Annice

Given all the fuss a post or two ago about Oprah looking for women obsessed with aging and beauty, I am happy to turn that page and introduce you to a beautiful and creative  woman over 50 who is far too busy creating cards and more for us women over 50 than being obsessed with aging.   Meet Diane English, a self-taught artist who owned a metaphysical book store in St. Augustine, Florida before moving to Asheville, NC 10 years ago.   After reading The Artist’s Way by Julie Cameron, Diane decided to follow her dream of combining art with her spiritual path allowing her to embark on the next phase of her life.  After visiting her in her studio and seeing many of her cool, cosmic characters, I’d say she is living her dream – minus the downtown condo she covets.

Diane at play, oops, I mean work.

Diane is the owner and creator of  The Great Cosmic Happy Ass Card Co, and if you’ve never received one of her cards, send yourself one.  Why not?  They’re inspiring, whimsical and just plain old kick-ass funny.  This is one of my favorites. This beautiful woman over 50 has aspired to achieve a higher consciousness along her journey, and not without some help from “years of deep meditation, medication, fasting, prayer and a few bottles of Merlot.”  Having had a subscription to her cards,  I knew I was in for a treat when we finally sat down in her lovely bright living room drinking coffee and nibbling scones.

Oops50: What made you finally decide to leave Florida and your bookstore, “Dream Street,” and go into the card business?

Diane: About once every 7 years, I did a painting, and one of them was titled, “Reach for Your Stars.” That became my first card, and it sold out in my bookstore.  Then, I made more cards and magnets, and soon those sales were accounting for 20% of my gross revenue.  That’s when the big box book stores moved in, and I took that as sign to make a change.

Oops50: Kind of like the movie, “You’ve Got Mail.”

Diane: You got it.

Oosp50: How did you come up with the business name, Great Cosmic Happy Ass Co. ?

Diane: I really wanted to use smart ass but I didn’t feel I could really do that.  So, my customers helped me pick the name.

Oops50:  So now I’m going to change the subject a little.  What’s your fondest childhood memory?

Diane: My grandfather carrying me on his shoulders while walking me to the zoo.  He was Irish and English, and we lived in Philly and walked everywhere.  When we got to the zoo, there was a blackbird in a cage at the entrance and he said, “Hi, I’m Joe.”

Oops50: What’s was the first record you bought? Diane: It’s a tie between Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto and Bill Haley and the Comets.

Oops50: Any advice for women over 50?

Diane: Well, I’m well over 50 – 68 in fact.  Don’t listen to anyone.  Follow your heart and do what you want to do.  Don’t be intimidated by the “should’s” in life.  Oh yeah, and keep your nose out of other people’s business.

Oops50:  Right.  I need to remember that.  So what turns you on?

Diane: A romantic dinner in an Italian restaurant, with Luciano Pavarotti singing in the background.

Oops50: So you like Italian?

Diane: I had an aunt who married an Italian, and I remember wonderful Italian dinners.  And I like to cook Italian food–outrageously delicious.

Oops50: What next?  Any new dreams?

Diane: A downtown condo with a large patio and a great view of the mountains of Western NC.  It should have a cable railing, a fireplace on the left side, a kitchen behind that, and a loft upstairs.  The light will be clean and beautiful.  And, don’t forget Rachmaninoff playing in the background.

Oops50: Any must have products you can’t live without?

Diane: My Netflix subscription and Roku, so I can download old movies.

Oops50: So what’s your favorite movie?

Diane: “Casablanca.”  And have you seen “Sunshine Cleaning?”  A very funny movie.

Oops50: So what’s Roku?

Diane: It’s great.  A little black box that lets you stream movies from Netflix.  It’s great.

Oops50: I’ll check it out.  Last question:  Any regrets so far?

Diane: Only that I didn’t know in my 20s what I know now.  And, that I don’t have the same body as I did in my 20’s.

Oops50: Who does?

Rize Cole on her birthday getting a ride w/Harley Davidson instructor Susan Harrison.

Staying in my Lane

I often hear the words “Be you for you.” 

 I chose to internalize this by taking full responsibility.  

I WILL BE ME FOR ME.

We are constantly focusing on the exterior, “what will they think and what will they say?”.   What matters to me is what I think and what I say.  What I am thinking is a powerful clue as to what is in my consciousness .  When we are looking at the exterior, are we neglecting the interior and what is resonating within?

As an elder, I have come to the realization that this is my journey and I can take the fast or scenic route, whichever suits me.

Being an elder can be awesome if you are mentally, physically and spiritually healthy.  For some of us, it is the first time we can stand in our truth, think of self first and be impeccable.  I am aware many elders are still stuck in the past, living with regrets and should have’s, but for most of us it is a joyful time to do our own thing.  I have no concerns about the opinions of others.  What am I supposed to do with what someone thinks of me?  I can observe…they are thinking, but they are in my lane and need to get back in their lane and MTOB (mind their own business).

I may also choose to have fun with them. One of my favorite ways to walk in the world is by tooting my horn when someone makes a decision to get into my lane.  This may look like a tilt of my head and a gentle smile, or I may change lanes by changing the subject.  If they are bold or rude enough to follow me into my new lane, I might let them have it with both barrels, which may sound like a giant laugh and a hug or I may just say something like, “ Oh… listen to that beautiful bird singing” or “Oh… I do love your hat” and continue talking about my love of hats, birds or whatever until they get back into their lane or forget what they had asked me in the first place.

Results: My blood pressure is ok and their feelings are intact.

77 year old poet Rize Cole currently lives in West Columbia, South Carolina.

Rize enjoys traveling, reading, cooking and whatever makes her happy!

You can contact her at mizrize77@yahoo.com

Janet lives in upstate New York with her husband, Jerry.  Together, they created The Valley Table, a wonderful monthly food magazine for the Hudson Valley. 

On June 26 & 27,  I walked 39 miles from Keystone to Breckenridge Colorado as part of the Rocky Mountain Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. I walked alongside my 27-year-old niece, Claire.  On our backs, we wore a small walker’s flag declaring, “I’m walking for….”

My flag read: “my sister, Nancy (a three-year survivor), Jane N, Ruth N” (my husband’s mother and stepmother, both of whom lost their lives to breast cancer) “and Grandma P” (my mother’s mother, who lost her breast to cancer). My niece walked for her Aunt Nancy and her friend’s mother Jeanne Fame.  We walked with 1100 others—mostly women and a number of men–each donning a flag celebrating loved ones who had survived the beast or remembering those who hadn’t. The slogan for the walk was “In it to End it.”   I confess, when I first committed to do the walk with my niece in February, I was getting in it to keep in shape, to force activity during New York’s long, cold winter. My niece had just had a break-up with her boyfriend, and she was getting in it to get over it. It took months of training—incrementally adding miles to weekly walks, meeting up (Claire from Manhattan, me from the Hudson Valley) to walk together, gearing up (running shoes, really good socks, shorts, tanks—we were walking advertisements for the Under Armour brand),  shouting out to friends, family, workmates and anyone else  for fundraising (the entry was a commitment to raise $1,800 for the Avon Foundation), fretting over whether I was really in shape to complete the walk, whether the altitude would affect me, whether I could keep up with my fit and athletic niece. And then there we were at the beautiful Keystone Resort along the Snake River, with snow-capped mountains surrounding us–all assembled at 7 a.m. in the brisk mountain air. Ready.  

 I came to the walk prepared. But there was nothing that could quite prepare me for the raw emotion of the gathering of people standing for a common cause. At the opening ceremony, we learned we had collectively raised $2.6 million that would be distributed to local organizations; we heard from fellow walkers—a young woman “walking for her mom,” a husband “walking for his wife,” a survivor walking “because she could.”  And then we were off, walking. I noticed the woman in front of me: “I’m walking for my mother, 1957-2003,” the same birth year as my sister, just two years older than myself. The tears flowed forth. Thank goodness I had 39 miles ahead and scenery to distract.  

As we walked, we created a stream of people and a stream of energy. We made our way past beautiful lakeside resorts, western villages, over canyon streams, along highways and well-traveled bike paths. All along the way, cars honked, motor cyclists played music, people cheered, volunteers gave support–replenished water, offered food, checked on everyone’s status—were we OK? Thumbs up. The first 15 miles were a breeze; we’d done as many miles in NY.  My oxygen level was a little low, but it recovered with a short stop at mile 13. Having the company of my athletic trainer niece as a walking buddy certainly helped, especially as we passed the 20-mile mark in the high canyon outside Frisco and every muscle ached. She kept our pace.

Claire at the tent campsite, end of first day

Some favorite memories: the two little girls who gave us high 5 at every cheer station (as they waited to cheer their Mom on); the dedicated husband who also made every station w/ pup at foot and video camera in hand to cheer his wife on; the woman who cheered us at mile 14, saying we looked like we were ready to break into a jog, and cheered us again at mile 22, saying we still looked strong. The last 4 miles of Day One were the toughest, but my sister surprised us and jumped in to walk a few miles with us. We did it, and after a delicious hot shower (in a souped up 18-wheeler), a satisfying plate of pasta and meatballs (everything tastes good after 26 miles at high altitude), and a refreshing night’s sleep (in a tent), we woke to a brisk beautiful morning, and, with just 13 miles to go, we felt strong.

Janet and Claire with sister Mary (Claire's mom) at end

We did, in fact, finish strong–among the first 50. We walked through the village of Breckenridge, ordered a local brew and steak lunch, and, as we toasted our survival, we started planning for another walk, a bigger team, another destination–next year. For whatever your reason–whether it’s to keep in shape, work through a life change, celebrate a loved one, the Avon walk (and it’s held throughout the country) is a great thing to do. Anyone in it to end it?  

Some facts about breast cancer I learned along the way:

* Approximately 178,480 women and 2,030 men will be diagnosed with breast cancer this year     * 40,460 women and 450 men in the U.S. will die from the disease annually.     * There are over 2 million breast cancer survivors in the U.S. who have been treated for breast cancer     * Every 3 minutes, there is a new diagnosis of invasive breast cancer     * There are more than 250,000 women under the age of 40 in the U.S living with breast cancer, and over 11,000 will be diagnosed this year     * A woman has a 1 in 8 chance of developing breast cancer in her lifetime     * Every 13 minutes, a life is lost to breast cancer     * White, non-Hispanic women are more likely to develop breast cancer, but African-American women are more likely to die from it.     * Breast cancer is the most commonly diagnosed cancer among Hispanic women and is the leading cause of cancer deaths among this group.
For more info on breast cancer, the cause and the Avon walk, visit http://www.avonwalk.org/cause/breast-cancer-information.html

Sadhvi

I need to share this.  A good friend of mine sent it to me, and asked if I could post it.  I just got done watching this YouTube video and it gave me goosebumps.  That always happens to me when I hear the Truth.  Take a look, and see how it affects you.  It is time to end the war.  It is time to wake up!

Annice

For Father’s Day, I asked my friend, Judy King-Calnek to share some of her memories about her father, who was one of the few African Americans to go to Harvard University in 1941.  Toward the end of her piece, you will find a link detailing his experience at Harvard told by the Boston Globe entitled, Southern Discomfort: With quiet grace, two black men change the heart of Harvard in 1941.   

While driving down the FDR Drive in Manhattan, I was still savoring the excitement of Brazil’s first victory in the World Cup, which I had watched and celebrated with friends in a cute little Brazilian bistro in Brooklyn that could’ve easily been in Copacabana.  I was on my way to work that morning, and even though it was only 7:45 a.m., the sun was shining brightly and it was so warm that I drove with my car windows and sunroof wide open, not to mention the radio cranked up.  

Dr. Judith King-Calnek

As I surfed the pre-selected buttons to find some music, preferably something I could sing along to as it was one of those kind of days, I was grabbed by a voice I had known since my childhood growing up in Cleveland.  It was Louis Armstrong on his tribute album to Fats Waller, singing “All That Meat and No Potatoes” – one of my father’s favorites.  I sang along at the top of my lungs, not like the 50 year old teacher getting ready to talk to her anthropology students as they prepare for a summer of fieldwork, but like the little girl who used to dance frenetically about the living room, with no clue of the double entendre of the lyrics, laughing as my father laughed at my glee and excitement when Satchmo wailed, and Daddy and I both sang out, “Give that food to the alligators!”.

That song and my experience to it, made me think about how much I missed my father, but it also made me happy because for that moment I really was four years old again and my father was about to pick me up and tickle me.  Immediately, I’d laugh and laugh some more and he’d call me his “little sugar-pie” just as Louis Armstrong began to blow his trumpet. 

As a little girl, I felt safe and protected by my father.  He’d always tell me that he was going to bring the sunshine to me when he’d join my mother and me vacationing on Nantucket.  I knew he wasn’t magic, but the strange thing was, we could be having cloudy, foggy weather, and as soon as he’d get to the island, usually in August, our birthday month, the sky would clear up and the sun would come out – just like he promised.                                        

Family House on Nantucket

As I moved into adolescence, my relationship with my father became strained by typical things like teenage rebelliousness.  Soon, I was no longer his cute “little sugar-pie”.  Then, one summer, as a teenager, I began to see a different side of my father.  Being the youngest of four children, I was the last to go through the family rite of passage - working in my father’s office for a few weeks every summer, I found it  hard to call him “Dr. King.”  I remember being surprised when his secretary told me how proud he was of my siblings and me and how much he talked about us.  We had no idea!  In those days he was very stern with us.  That summer, I was not only able to see just my father at work in his medical practice, but a man of great compassion who was profoundly respected by his patients and so many others.   

Okay, it sounds like I’m idolizing my father, and I suppose that many daughters feel that way.  It’s not that I didn’t see his warts and character flaws.  I did.  In fact, that’s what I focused on for many years, but now that I’m a parent of two boys, who will someday become fathers, I’m revisiting my memories of my father.  You see, after becoming a parent, I thought of him differently, and realized that not only did I love my father deeply, but I really liked him as a person.  

Dr. Drue King

  Unfortunately, it was not until his last few months, when my father was retired and in his 80s and had lost his physical mobility due to diabetic neuropathy, that I discovered yet another side of him.  I knew he had gone to the prestigious Boys Latin School in Boston and on to Harvard before World War II, at a time when the term “affirmative action” wasn’t even a twinkle in the eye of a legislator or admissions officer.  In fact, it would be more apt to describe that era as one of “negative action”.  Yet, he had leapt and labored over many of the racially defined hurdles of the era as did countless nameless African American men and women of the first half of the twentieth century.  But because it was Harvard, my father’s story carried certain connotations, or at least more attention than perhaps some others.  

Now, as an adult and as a parent, I realize we are usually hesitant to share certain stories with our children.  Obviously, we don’t readily tell them about the partying, exploits and abuses of young adulthood.  But there are other stories, too, the kind that our children (and other people) often consider remarkable.  It’s just that when we were living them, we didn’t see them as important.  I now understand why part of my father’s story remained with him for so long.  Firstly, he didn’t consider his actions remarkable or noteworthy; he felt he was doing what should be done.  Secondly, there was an element of shame or humiliation attached to efforts he made to move forward in his life. 

But thanks to one curious journalist, Ted Gup, who is now the Chair of the Department of Journalism at Emerson College, my father’s story came to be known through this article in the Boston Globe.  Apparently it moved the 21^st Century student body of Harvard as well as some staff and faculty members who saw fit to bestow on him the Harvard Foundation’s Humanitarian Award.  The University planned a celebration in his honor at which he was to receive the award, but he passed away just three short weeks prior to the date.  

My father died on April 1^st, 2004.  He was 84 years old.  The day he died the film “Big Fish”, a surrealistic story about a son trying to reconcile the truth about his father’s life before his death, was playing on TV.  I watched it over and over again and cried all day long thinking about my dad.  His was a very good life.  He did the things he wanted to, he achieved what he wanted to achieve; he had the family he wanted to have; enjoyed his grandchildren and even some great-grands.  The day before he died he told my sister he was tired, and then we knew we could let him go. 

My father and grandchildren

So today is Father’s Day and it’s okay that I can’t call him and tell him “Happy Father’s Day” because he is still so big and so present in my life.  But, I can reach for any one of those thousands of vivid memories and relive those My wish on Father’s Day is that my sons feel the same way about their parents as I feel about mine, and that their children feel the same.  I think my father gave me a wonderful gift, which I have a hard time naming, but I can certainly feel it when I recall so many of the lessons he bestowed on me.  So today on Father’s Day, I say “Thank you” to my father.  I think I’ll light a candle for him, download some Louis  Armstrong and sing and dance around my living room.

Content coming soon.