Milan

Part Italian and part cosmopolitan, Milan feels like a cross between Florence and Berlin.  It's also a city that requires some work to find it's underlying beauty, but it's there in spades as you venture out into the neighborhoods.  Milan is old meets new ...

We stayed at the Palazzo Segreti, an 18 room boutique hotel in the historic center near the  Duomo and the trendy Brera district and within easy walking distance from the train station.  A little pricey and best suited for couples, the prime location (though a bit noisy) and nice rooms made it worth the splurge. 

(NOTE: If you like boutique hotels, I highly recommend finding them on this website.  Palazzo Segreti was the fourth hotel I've stayed in on a recommendation from i-escape - the others in Berlin and Croatia - and all of them have been fantastic.   They also offer a range of prices and have very useful reviews.) 

The Duomo is the third largest church in the world after St Peter's and Seville Cathedral.  It's spectacular from the square, on the inside, but perhaps most especially from the rooftop.  It's well worth the 7 euros and 250 steps to climb to the top.

There's also shopping of course, much of it way too hip for us.  Bring your cutest clothes as you'll want to fit in.  You'll likely start your shopping at the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, a beautiful iron and glass shopping arcade near the Duomo and lined with expensive shops but we found shopping everywhere we went. 

There is a well-worn mosaic art of a bull in the center of the shopping center where people take turns spin their heels in three times for good luck.  There is also excellent people watching (and photographing.)

One of our favorite places was 10 Corso  Como - a  store, bookstore, cafe/restaurant, photography gallery tucked away in a courtyard.  The merchandise is high end but it's worth a stroll through and there's a wonderful rooftop deck to sit and relax.  Apparently they have an outlet too which we missed.  We did hit the DMagazine outlets which if you are a savvy high fashion shopper would be worth the hunt.

One of the highlights of the visit was being in Milan over Palm Sunday.   We happened on two churches just as services were ending which was a real treat.

First at the Basilica of Sant' Ambrogio ...

Then at the Basilica of San Lorenzo, a late 4th century church in the round.  I have a thing for churches in the round. 

Milan is gearing up to host the World Expo 2015, a world's fair with a food theme.  An event expected to bring around 20 million visitors between May 1 and Oct 31, we were happy to be in the city before the rush.  Evidence of the coming global trade fair was most obvious in the Porta Nuova business district. 

Sometimes you just hit it right.  We scored by being in Milan on the last Sunday of April which meant we got to enjoy strolling through the Naviglio Grande Antique Market.  A very cool part of town with bars and restaurants spilling onto a not so pretty canal on a day when you wish you had a truck.

Of course, we love eating.  If you like risotto, you'll really like eating in Milan.  We had some of the best risotto we've ever eaten including one with nettles.  We got some good recommendations before going.  Here's some places to share:

Pisacco: lunch or dinner.  Former chef of 2 Michelin Star restaurant (but not expensive.)  North Brera neighborhood.  Recommended by a friend of a friend from Milan.   The roasted vegetable starter with pickled rhubarb, romanesco broccoli and a smattering of other perfectly roasted vegetables was an inspiration.  Don't miss.

Taglio: lunch or dinner.  Modern, casual Italian with floor to ceiling open shelves.  Recommended in NY Times.  Great service, fun vibe, excellent food.

Obica: lunch.  Mozzarella Bar.  It's a chain restaurant but still above average for a tasty lunch and a must do if you crave the real mozzarella and didn't realize they were even mozzarella choices.  Recommended by a friend.

N'Ombra de Vin: an informal, destination wine bar in the Brera neighorhood.  Worth a stop before dinner.  Was packed before we left.

El Brellin:  dinner.  Popular in guide books. In Naviglio.   Very good but you'll be in tourist company. 

Carlo e Camillian: dinner.  We couldn't get reservation so book ahead.  Second restaurant of a chef who owns 2 Michelin Star restaurant Cracco.  Recommended by a friend of a friend from Milan.  

More of pretty Milan on this Good Friday.

The Lord's Prayer

(The Lord's Prayer, in my own words inspired by NT Wright, Lent for Everyone: Luke, Year C)

God, who is not only mine, but Ours

Let us start by staying Wow!

We think a lot of things are amazing, but are they really in light of you?

Imagine everything being right.  Heaven on earth.  Peace.  Just imagine.   Because really – it is the plan.

[Long pause………………………………..]

While we wait, give us these three things we need:

The basics.  You know we need to eat and eat often.

Clean inner fuel.  Release us from the toxins that poison us and our relationships.

A secure path.  Help us stay on the path of true adventure, avoiding the dead ends that may temporarily dazzle.

And thank you because the first pause helped us to remember:

That though we will need to say this all over again tomorrow;

your amazingly right plan - for then and even now – carries on.

Third Week of Lent

I don’t like poetry much

Fragments everywhere

Needing to read between the lines

Juicy language egging you on

But wouldn’t you know it

Love presses between the lines

Demanding receipt or rejection

Like a mother searching to lock eyes with her child

No matter how independent they’ve become

A call to rest, to come home

A soundtrack that plays on

Sometimes so loud it’s a wonder

Other times so faint it’s a mystery

A back rub that continues well after you’ve fallen asleep

911 without travel time

The shade of a tree willing to uproot and follow you into the desert

Love absolves and presents

A safe deposit box sturdy enough for secrets

Big enough for piles of junk

With a special place reserved for deposits of doubt

Insured against theft or natural disaster

I don’t like poetry much

But there it goes again

Only visible for a moment

Leaving behind this bloodied deed of trust

Written in my name

What Would Ellen Do Over?

The first thing I did when I was back on US soil this past January was go in search of fast food. Actually it was the second thing. First I apparently needed to blow a fat cloud of judgey from well-dressed, willowy Europe through the Minneapolis airport past gates of sweat-shirted, solidly-built travelers. As American common courtesy would have it, I – carrying a few extra baguette pounds on my boot supported frame - was given most excellent directions to the Chick-fil-A in Terminal B.

I cannot speak of Chick-fil-A like normal people. I worked at Chick-fil-A in high school doling out samples of the WORLD’S BEST CHICKEN to mall cruisers, learning how to upsell people into a value meal, and believing waffle fries, along with SuzyQ’s, as a major high school food group. Needless to say, I was looking forward to the reunion.

Once at the right food court, I stepped up to the till to order. I ordered the Original – a boneless breast of chicken served on a buttered bun with two dill pickle chips (not to be judgey, but the tomato and lettuce should never EVER be added )– and a small waffle fries. I totally would have up-sized if asked, but Drake didn’t ask and that disappointed me a little. Then I launched into my Chick-fil-A story. Right there at the no-line till. Drake was not moved. He only asked: “Is that bottle of water from our case?” I totally should have lied because when you are giving someone a good story, they really shouldn’t be asking about money.

Later that same day in Lawrence, KS, I needed to get sorted with a prepaid SIM for my international mobile phone. Here I can speak of AT&T like normal people. I worked at AT&T for ten years marketing data plans I no longer understand. At the AT&T store, I was greeted, put in a queue and then told that the “data doesn’t work” on prepaid plans with the new iPhone 6. Apple’s fault (obviously.) Some things never change. Given that one uses an iPhone FOR DATA, we agreed that this was maybe a non-starter and I should probably head on over to T-Mobile. A hero’s return.

At the T-Mobile store, there was a line. A nice girl greeted me and told me it would just be a few minutes. I was not moved. Literally. I did not take a seat or “look around” the store – a completely stupid idea for people who already have a phone and would just like for it to work. Instead I hovered and did that thing where you wish bad on every person in line in front of you. That was good fun for a while until I realized I was already in Lawrence, KS. Also the nice girl who greeted me kept doing nice stuff – for her customer, for me, for her co-workers – and that was making it hard to stay pissy.

The girl looked exactly like Ellen Page except with lots of tattoos and hipster glasses. She was maybe twenty-five years old but her crowd control skills were like a seasoned pro. Not oblivious to those of us waiting – thanking us intermittently for our patience - but also not hurrying with her current customer. Of course, he wanted to buy a new phone. Why is it that people ahead of you never just need a new charger?

Before I allowed myself to get too defeated, I noticed the computer systems were up and “Ellen” knew all the right buttons to push and she moved with the possibility that there might be time for me to pick up a Five Guys burger and not be late. Working with purpose and good cheer, the only hurrying she did was to the backroom. Otherwise “Ellen” stopped with her young customer to admire his well-earned new iPhone6 like any good friend would do and volunteered payment plan options in plain-spoken English. You might think she was just doing her job, but I have Drake to point out that she was doing more than that. I decided right then I needed to get in her queue.

I got the trainee instead. He had never done activation like mine. Glory be. The Five Guys burger was so not going to happen.

BUT there she was again. “Ellen.” She guided my trainee through the entire activation process (after my name) without any hint of hovering or irritation. And he had a LOT of questions. I looked for an under the breath harrumph after the first dozen questions or an eye roll about the growing line, but it simply wasn’t there. Instead she kept up her warm welcome with each new person who walked in and stayed attentive to the person in front of her and tuned enough to my trainee to make sure he wasn't setting me up with a family plan with the rest of the line. It was like she created an energy in the room that made you *almost* happy to be there.

I did get the Five Guys hamburger and wasn’t late. ***Also, my phone worked.***

Sometimes it’s hard to imagine WWJD. You need people living today to show you what to do. You know it when you see it. I was thinking about Ellen this past Tuesday night when I accidentally left everything I needed to do to the two hours right before guests were to arrive. Unfortunately those were the same two hours my children were home and every multitasking muscle in my body was unavailable. I needed some Ellen grace to move with purpose and less pinch.

I can’t say for sure what Ellen would have done but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t be stressing about lighting the scented candle in the bathroom. I do think she would have answered the 120 minutes of questions without nearly as much irritation and probably volunteered dinner options in normal-volume English. She maybe would have oohed and aahed for reals about what happened at school.

Somewhere between “whatever” and “maybe next time,” I did call a meeting with my children before the guests arrived. I figured if I didn’t get it right this time, it might be a good idea to apologize. I don’t know, but I’m hoping it created an energy that made my guests want to be in the same room with me. The stuff I was emitting before then was all icky and way to interested in my perfectly done snickerdoodle cookies.

Another bonus of the What Would Ellen Do-over was that it caused my little people to offer to be on “greeting committee” and later put themselves to bed like angels.

I really should get some hipster glasses.

Passion Fruit

Photo:  Food Network

Before the juice is sweetened with passion

The fruit must fall and turn colors

 Submit to wrinkling by the sun

 “A tropical twist worth waiting for!” you crow to the mirror

While you slowly release the pinch from your brow

Straight to combing your all-to-misbehaving hair            

Taming what is wild or amplifying what is modest

“I hate my ..!” you almost yell  

While you remember cancer fighting women with heads lay bare

Little by little you see

Your eyes, perhaps not as luminescent as you’d like

But the only decent pair to tell the full story of your soul

Your nose, blurring the lines of the law of proportion

But only in a made-up world where people carry rulers                                              

Where lopsided ears can be traded in on eBay

Where skin doesn’t recognize the season it’s in

Where every cheekbone is in a race to the top

Little by little you tell yourself

This face is ripening and that is good

And while a sexy, pouty mouth might be nice

Your deeper wish is for kindness when you open your lips.

Trading £s for Lbs: A London Restaurant Guide

There are lots of wonderful food cities in Europe but no other place has the variety of London.  You can eat anything your heart desires and it doesn’t take much frantic searching on Trip Advisor to find something decent. 

In one full week in London, we ate 12 different types of cuisine: Pakistani, Malaysian, Japanese, Lebanese, Thai, British, American, Italian, Indian, Spanish, Turkish, and Mexican. (I know my children have more adventure willing palettes than most kids.)

Given the abundance of good options and the size of the city, recommendations are best sorted by geography.  So if you find yourself in South Kensington (where we stayed) or Soho (where you will find yourself at some point in your trip) here are a few recommendations:

SOUTH KENSINGTON

Noor Jahan – upscale North Indian food (so more meat, less curries),  small with neighborhood vibe, apparently where Brad and Angelina eat when in London.   Lick your plate delicious.  An absolute favorite.  Booking required.

Patara – upscale Thai with non-traditional dishes, smaller portions but great flavors.  Another absolute favorite.  Three locations.  Booking required.

Carluccios – Italian diner, good spot for breakfast which they serve all day especially if you like fried eggs, pancetta and mushrooms.  Nice coloring packet for kids.  Several locations.

Comptoir Libanais – sit down communal table Lebanese,  great for lunch, mezze plates and excellent grill.  Several locations.

Fernandez & Wells –casual, order at the counter Spanish inspired breakfast with fried eggs, chorizo and cheese plate options plus excellent cakes, pastries, and coffee.   New next door is Roots & Bulbs for healthy smoothies.

Bosphorus Kebabs – excellent quality take out Turkish grill (no chips here!), very popular.  We did take out on Valentine’s Day since restaurants were packed.  One of the guys working pulled my husband aside and told him to buy me some flowers

Hereford Arms – great neighborhood gastro pub with comfy seating and screens for sport.

Also with several locations for a sweet fix is Gail’s Bakery and Hummingbird Cupcake (which I personally feel are overrated in taste but beautifully packaged.)

SOHO

Satori – authentic pizza from Napoli, recommended to us by a Londoner originally from Italy.   Large seating area, good for before a show,  very welcoming with kids.

Jackson + Rye – traditional American brunch,  higher end diner feel with good lookin’ brunch cocktails.   Solid food but not anything unexpected except for the outrageously delicious maple bacon slabs.   Booking required.

Honest Burgers – small place always with a queue, simple chalkboard menu of only a handful of burger options, rosemary chips, onion rings and bottled beers.  Worth the wait if a burger is on your mind.  Also tried the chain Gourmet Burger Kitchen which got the thumbs up as a less “healthy tasting” version to Honest Burgers but with the addition of shakes.  (Disclosure: after two years living outside of the US, our burger hurdle has come down.  We're just happy having ground beef that tastes normal.)

Frith Street and streets around it are full of restaurants.  Two recommendations from previous trips:  Ceviche – Peruvian seafood and Koya – Japanese Udon noodles.  Also nearby which were recommended to us but we ran out of time:  Barrafina – Spanish tapas and Yalla Yalla – Lebanese and middle-eastern street food.  (I'd probably do Ceviche and Barrafina without kids given limited seating.)

ELSEWHERE

Satay House (Paddington) – Malaysian, more than satays,  came recommended as best Malaysian from a London transplant, enjoyed with our Seattle friends based in Luxembourg and holidaying in London at the same time.  I don’t know Malaysian food, but this restaurant made fans out of all of us.  Booking required.

Zayna (Marble Arch) – upscale Pakistani, very good but I thought overpriced.  Also hit my pet peeve when waiter asked me to write a review on Trip Advisor.    Booking required.

Crosstown Donuts (Piccadilly) – daily made American style sourdough donuts, opened 9 months ago, first tried at Fernandez & Wells who carries them as does Whole Foods, first location at Piccadilly Circus Tube Station.  Less sweet than most American donuts and delicious.  Way better than the Hummingbird cupcakes.

Craig’s House in Crouch End – We got a special dinner in the home of one of my childhood friends (and as an Army brat, I don’t have many of those!) Julie and Craig were so sweet to host my four man-sized appetites after having just been on holiday themselves and after a full day’s work.  I can’t guarantee a reservation, but Craig’s couple day Pasta Bolognese sauce is worth crossing town for.  :)

If you find yourself in the East End around Shoreditch/Brick Lane/Spittalfields, I previously blogged about some things I sampled on an East End Food Tour .

Happy eating!

Latergrams and Photos of London

I started taking pictures because I was outnumbered. 

Life with boys is wonderful but when four minds start congregating around a football team’s line-up for the eighth time in 24 hours, it’s time for a lady’s getaway.  Behind the camera is a great place for estrogen to escape.  Plus, someone needs to document all these places we have been.

One of the things I love about photography is that in the right light even an amateur gets a couple of good ones.   Good equipment combined with sheer volume and great subject material has led me to more than a few keepers. The wild card now is getting those keepers moved into clouds and drives and scrapbooks and places of safety.  (Or so my administrator gently advises.)

A new thing I’m discovering about photography is that I sometimes catch a moment I don’t realize is a moment until later.  Like last night, I was reading Psalm 91:9-15:

“Because you have made the Lord your refuge, the Most High your dwelling-place, no evil shall befall you, no scourge come near your tent.  For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.  On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.  You will tread on the lion and the adder, the young lion and the serpent you will trample under foot.  Those who love me, I will deliver; I will protect those who know my name.  When they call to me, I will answer them; I will be with them in trouble, I will rescue them and honour them.”

As I read this, my mind jumped to this photo I snapped last week.  I didn’t think much of it when I took the photo or even viewed it later but I saw something else in it when I read this passage.  It visually connected me to God’s promise to cocoon us with angels when danger is below our feet.  That even though we see it’s a long way down and it causes us to tip-toe gingerly, we need not fear.  He's got us.

I still don’t know how much I really understand this Scripture, but I do think the latergram moved me an inch closer.  The opportunity to catch an unfolding moment for future absorption is as good a reason as any to be behind a camera. 

Here's some more photos from our trip to London.  Not all of them have a story (yet.)

Busy hands.

The Natural History Museum.

Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park.

London football.  (Colin, the Liverpool fan, checking out the Chelsea and Arsenal competition.)

Norwegian friends in London!

London sites.

London streets.

Boys.

A week's wrap up of dining out in London coming up in later post ...

A Reflection on Spinning

I've never been a gym person, but laws of exercise have a way of bending around persistent friends.  One of my dearest friends in Luxembourg is a spinning instructor.  Heidi is a hard core athlete but uber encouraging and has excellent taste in music.  It was inevitable. 

Now a year later, I am a spinning veteran.  I know this to be true because I come early to claim “my bike” which is front and center next to several of my American expat friends.   I don’t yet have clip in cycling shoes, but that too is inevitable.

Two bikes down from us is another regular, a French man who looks exactly like Liberace and wears a paisley scarf while spinning.  It’s worth going just for that.

Everyone talks about being “aspirational.” I have an Instagram feed full of aspirational photos (follow Nike, National Geographic, and a few amazing travel photographers and you’ll know what I mean.) I have a smartphone that professes to take me anywhere I want to go (just preferably not outside Luxembourg.)  I stumble on aspirational quotes all over the place.  All these things I try to will into my psyche for safe keeping but mostly it’s a mental exercise.  But one of the things I like about spinning is that for those 60 minutes I’m sitting atop that stationary bike, I feel myself BEING aspirational. 

At the beginning of class, I always seem to notice what’s not perfect (and also kind of dreadful) about the reflection I see in the mirror.  I won’t go into the details.  You get it.  But by the time the sweat is dripping and we’re climbing our umpteenth hill, I see something else in the mirror.  I see myself being strong.  It happens every time.

I was reflecting this week on my Year of Spinning.  I had this lovely thought (okay a few of them in succession) …

Spinning is a lot like life.  In spinning, there are warm-ups, sprints, climbs, steady cadences, and cool downs.  All out sprints (thank goodness) usually only last for short intervals.  No one- not even Heidi-can sprint for the full 60 minutes.  With every arduous climb, there’s a downhill to enjoy and while you don’t know it at the time, your legs are stronger for the next one.  No good spinning teacher would leave them out.  Dancing and singing while spinning is always a good idea.   It’s harder on the climbs, easier on the “jumps” and steady cadences.

Then there are your feet.  Clip in cycling shoes are best but any old pair of tennis shoes will do. The key is that your shoes must be strapped in tight. You can't get leverage or spin efficiently if your straps are loose.  I’ve learned this the hard way.   Likewise, we are locked in – bound - to the foundations, families, and bodies we were given.  Accepting our collective of givens ground us like a strap, but the type of shoe we wear says nothing about how fast and far we might go.

Your hands have a role to play but maybe not the ones you thought.  They are there to guide and balance.  Engaging them to grip the handlebars when the pedaling gets hard only wastes energy and brings tension to your upper body.  It's a good thing to remember when we get our control freak on, perhaps most especially where other people we love and want the best for are involved.  They have to saddle up to their own bikes, which you hope to God is in sight of yours.  Also re: death grip, I'd prefer the work my hands be left open for better business.

During warm-ups, Heidi always has us stretch our arms up and encourages us to make space in our core.  She brings up our posture frequently as we spin.  My belief is that we wired for worship -  to put our hands up in the air.  Whether it’s God or Happiness or Big Ideas, we all worship something.  I also believe that our core – that big cavernous space some of us call our soul – requires engagement and constant attention. Core fitness makes everything we do easier, but it’s also easy to forget about it when you’re pedaling as fast as you can.  We need reminders.

The thing about spinning is that it’s ultimately up to the person to determine their own level of exertion. You get out what you put in.  Having someone to push you helps but really only you know when you are phoning it in.   You control the resistance on your bike, just like we choose in our attitudes, to make the pedaling as easy or difficult as we want.   And constant adjustment is normal. 

During cool down or sun down, we all get the chance to rest.  That’s when you, and only you, know if you’ve given a perfect effort.

Voluminous Love

We cannot see the source of this rushing water

Though we know it to be here

Somewhere upstream

The emancipation of rumblings below the surface

Tears of a glacier racing down to meet us

Clouds bursting open to pile on

In a day where everyone is allergic to something

This water: satisfying for all

Made for us

Yes to quench our thirst

Also to wash, splash and skinny dip

A little further downstream

This tributary grafted with others

Towards the even deeper ocean of love

A Reflection on Growing Old

My Grandmother had a blowout party for her 85th birthday and again for her 90th.  For her 95th, she decided to skip the party in favor of staggered visits by her ten grandchildren.    Being the furthest away by a long shot, I was the last of the grandkids to visit.   It is with some shame that I confess her 96th birthday passed before I finally made the trip to Lawrence, Kansas last month.  Guilt gets us places if not always in a timely manner.

Faye (right front), Diane (right back), Betty (left)

My Grandmother Faye still lives in the house of my childhood memories.   Having outlived three husbands, she now lives alone.   She’s slowly losing her eyesight due to macular degeneration, but otherwise is as healthy as a horse and sharper than our best Monday morning well-rested selves.   She still cooks for herself, buys fresh flowers every week and checks her email every morning on her second iPad.  (Her first iPad had an untimely death from the hood of a car.)  

Soon after I arrived, she asked if I might help her read an email.  It was the minutes from her last Investment Club meeting.  Toward the end of the minutes, under “New Business” I read:

“Faye discussed Mankind Corp (MNKD) which was split off from Merck.  Faye moved to buy 100 shares of MNKD for approximately $5.55 per share.  Kitty seconded the motion.  Motion passed unanimously.  Kitty agreed to add this stock to her watch list.”

I knew my Grandmother was something of a stock junkie, but I had no idea she was still scouting stocks at the age of 96.  With some college and a disposition towards numbers, my Grandmother learned how to analyze stocks in the mid 70s.  She started a subscription to Value Line then (which she continues to receive and study to this day under a magnifying lamp), fired her broker in the 80s, and went on to amass a sizable portfolio from a modest amount of money left to her by her first two husbands.   All on her own.  Buying Intel early helped. 

My Grandmother joined the S&P 20 Investment Group fifteen years.  At the time it was mostly a social gathering of women thirty years her junior.  She boldly suggested that instead of picking stocks based on “gut feel” that maybe they should consult Value Line.  She taught them what she knew.  Each woman is now responsible for tracking and providing monthly read outs on a handful of stocks. Today there’s still wine (and probably Bourbon for Faye) at their gatherings, but now official meeting minutes and more money in the bank.   Trickle down teaching works.

Faye (middle red) with her Investment Club

While her finance gene might not have filtered down to me, her love for words did.  My grandmother writes what she calls “Thoughts in Rhyme”, a poetic hobby that took flight in her 80s and just retired with a birthday rhyme to a friend on his 100th birthday and another friend on his 95nd birthday.  I read several of them.  They are witty and proof that growing old doesn’t mean you have to stop flirting.

I learned all this in the first couple of hours I was there.  My travel companion named guilt quickly melted away as it became clear my Grandmother wasn’t keeping calendar score, only I was.   My siblings and cousins had warmed up all her stories and since I was the closing act, I got a few extra ones.   Two full days of stories.  Her stock prowess and Thoughts in Rhyme was only the tip of her chutzpah iceberg.

The youngest of six children with an abusive and alcoholic father and without two nickels to rub together, Faye Jones Olmsted Bradshaw Jones made a life that defied the hand she was dealt.  Understanding her helped me understand how my Dad - her son that she so wanted to be a girl they kept her in the hospital a couple of extra days to make sure she bonded - found the grit needed to make his way from Kansas to West Point.   It was good to know that when I’m hugging the shore, I can remember I come from a line of people who ventured out of their depth.

As we talked I asked her what she thought was her best decade.  She mulled that one over and responded the next morning with this:  “There wasn’t a best.  Aside from my childhood, it was mostly good all the time.”  Not everyone gets sweeter as they age, but the resilient ones seem too.  You can see it in the retell of their stories where they linger on the good parts and urge you to join them there.  Not that they gloss over the bad parts (of which my Grandmother certainly had her fair share of), but they step over them with an easy nonchalance knowing they were all part of the critical path to a life worth living.

Living independently has helped my Grandmother stay young, but it’s also her chosen interdependence on younger friends like her 66 year old traveling companion and chauffeur Diane, her good-as-gold 50ish female neighbors Deb and Jo, and her equally vivacious 92 year old friend Betty (with younger looking hands than my own) that keep her there.  Together they have viewing parties at my Grandma’s house to watch University of Kansas basketball games and drink 7 and 7s.  It’s a motley crew of ladies who came from different parts of town now banded together in uproarious fun, companionship and love.   Guardian angels in flesh and blood and Jayhawks attire.

Jawhawks Mantle

Early in the game, the Jahawks were losing and my Grandmother needed to pace.  She went out to collect the mail and fell on her way back in the front door.  Before any of us could run to her aid, she assured us: “I’m alright!”  Jo, deferring to me as the granddaughter-in-charge, let me bandage the superficial wound on her arm while my Grandmother carried on cheering.  By morning, she had redressed her bandages before I was even up.

In the NY Times article “The Liberation of Growing Old” Anne Karpf says, “The emerging age acceptance movement neither decries nor denies the aging process.  It recognizes that one can remain vital and present, engaged and curious, indeed continue to grow, until one’s dying breath.”

 She’s right.  I have proof.