Then: Getting Boned – Now: Getting Boniva

Then: Getting Boned

Now:  Getting Boniva

Not that I don’t still partake in the THEN part of this column, it’s just that “doing it” is not something I think about daily.   Not like I used to.   I used to worry if my boyfriend and I were having enough sex or if we were having too much!  Had we fallen into a routine?  How could we change it up, add some spice?  I bought into the whole “Kama Sutra” thing.   Lotions, potions, and pretzel positions.   And I had this mental calendar thing, keeping track of when, where, how and sometimes why!

As the years passed, “getting boned” passed quietly from a “have-to-have-it” thing into a pleasurably “making love” event when the kids were asleep and has since evolved into “cuddling with benefits.”

These days, when referring to bones I’m usually talking about buying a steak – with or without one.  Or picking the chicken bones out of the soup.  Or hoping that my elderly mother isn’t choking on one.

And just the other day the word took on yet another dimension when I joined the Boniva club.  With Sally Field as a member, I guess it’s not all that bad.  But “Bad To The Bones” has certainly taken on a whole new meaning.

It appears that my bones are quite literally, well – bad.
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Boniva is supposed to prevent me from getting Osteoporosis, which means “porous bones.”  For the past year, I’ve been taking my calcium, on and off.   I guess I’m now paying for the off days.

After my exam, the doctor gave me a sample box.  From the size of it, I was certain it contained at least six pills.  Six months!  How nice of him.  But no.  After opening up the box and pulling out tons of paperwork, I then found a square of plastic that had been folded into thirds.  And there inside all the wrapping (impossible to open, by the way) was one lonely pill, sitting like a princess.  No wonder prescriptions cost so much!

The next morning I took it.  I followed the directions.  Take with water.  Do not eat or drink anything.  Sit or stand for the next hour.  Definitely, no lying down.

I won’t know the results until my next check-up.  So check with me next year and I’ll let you know the results.

In the meantime, I’ll take my pills, like a good Baby Boomer should.

And make no bones about it… I won’t be “getting boned” during that one hour that Boniva is running through my veins.

Unless we try Kama Sutra position number…hmmm…let  me see…

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Then: The Three R’s – Now: The Three W’s

Then:  The Three R’s

Now:  The Three W’s

When I was in young,  education focused on the three R’s:  Reading, wRiting and aRithmatic.   When you think about it, only one of these words, actually starts with an R.
But nevertheless, we all knew that these three subjects were important to our well-being and to getting good grades.

Now, many decades later, having mastered the three R’s, plus the rest of the alphabet, my days are consumed with the three W’s:  Working, Walking & Wine.  And please take note, that all three of these words do begin with a W.

However, there are many men who find it difficult to swallow these hard tablets can go for the authentic seller who is selling the real levitra pill . At the end of 2012, Australia stood at 18th position, (comparison, on the buy viagra total number of deaths that year. Provigro is a renowned medicinal supplement to alter erectile dysfunction has been very famous world wide for its quick effectiveness of erectile impotence. overnight cheap viagra works on the muscles of heart and penis. No one knows that we are ‘human beings’ and not some instruction accepting machines who will just continue to run and do the needful as soon as it could be possible. 5mg generic cialis http://greyandgrey.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/Nock.pdf Let’s start with Working – I was eager to grow up, graduate and get out in the real world.  Once I did, things moved along smoothly enough, until I realized that expressions like “summer vacation” and “winter break” no longer applied to my life.  That was, until I started having children and then those chunks of time didn’t mean rest and relaxation.  But more like panic and frustration.

Walking – As an adult, I now have to make time to exercise.  When I was younger, I never thought of making a special time to workout.  I was always running, jumping, bike riding, playing.  Walking was something I did to get from class to class, from place to place.  I was continually burning calories and never thinking about getting old.  Never thinking about blocking out a special time to walk.  Unlike today, when Working forces me to sit in one place.  Thus, the necessity of making time to walk.

And that brings me to the last W.  Wine.  My favorite.   After a hard day of Working and Walking, what better way to relax than with a cocktail?  I often have a martini, but that didn’t fit with the W’s theme and unlike that person who created the three R’s, I wanted to be true to my saying.

So what follows the three W’s?

I’m thinking that the next phase of my life will be the three D’s:  Drool, Diarrhea and Dementia.   Not!

No, I’m going to spend my retirement (if it ever gets here) living the three L’s:  Life, Love & Laughter.

How about you?

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Then: Transistor Radios – Now: iPods

Then:  Transistor Radios

Now:  iPods

The other day my granddaughter asked me to play her favorite song while we were driving in the car.  I told her I can’t make the radio play her song, that we would just have to wait for it to come on—although I doubted that any station I listened to would play the “Cock-a-doddle-doo” song.

She protested, saying that her mommy plays it in their car.  Well, her mommy has an iPod with about 1,000 of their “favorite” songs.  She takes her iPod everywhere.  With the touch of her finger, she can play any song she wants, anytime, anyplace.

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The DJ would announce a song was coming up in the next half hour, and we’d listen, as a group, yapping happily about the important things in life, such as boys and clothes and music and boys.  We’d listen to the DJ talk about life as we knew it, and when our favorite songs came on, we’d lie back, close our eyes and drift into our own private thoughts.

Today, when I’m at the beach I look around and it seems that everyone is plugged into her own musical device, not talking to each other at all.  Not having that shared experience of waiting anxiously for a great new song.  And not only at the beach.  Everywhere.  At the gym, walking down the street, in the grocery store, in line at the post office.  You can buy a song off iTunes, download it into your iPod and take it everywhere you go.  That is, as long as you keep your iPod charged.

Back then, even if we wanted to take our favorite song with us, we would have had to take an entire album or cassette tape.  There was no way to buy just one song.  Which forced us to listen to an entire album, where sometimes a real gem of a song would be discovered.

Sometimes waiting for something can be a good thing.  It’s all about patience and in this fast moving world of ours, patience is something that a lot of the younger generation doesn’t understand.  Everything moves so quickly.  We can send a message to Paris in one second and get an answer in two.  We are constantly plugged in, wired up, and instantly gratified.  Work follows us everywhere, even into the bathroom.  Yes, I’ve been known to talk on my cell phone to a banker while…well, you get the picture.

So, I told my granddaughter, she would have to be patient. We’d just have to listen to the old fashioned radio and wait for her song to come on.  And in the meantime…we could make up our own songs.  And you know what?  We had a great time, sharing, laughing and communicating with each other.  Isn’t that what life’s all about?

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Then: The Rolling Stones – Now: Kidney Stones

Then: The Rolling Stones

Now: Kidney Stones

One day you go to bed without any wrinkles and wake up wondering what kind of little bird left those imprints near your eyes and in the corners of your mouth. How come yesterday you could do fifty sit-ups and now you’re lucky if you can sit up in bed without straining a muscle. You used to be able to stay up partying well past midnight and still function at work the next day, without that three-o-clock nap. And you could handle stress without getting one of those hot flashes that makes you think you’ve just run a marathon and leaves you drenched in a sauna-like sweat.

You ask yourself – When did these changes take place? They came on without you expecting them. No flashing yellow light. No life sign posted on the side of the road warning: Merging into middle age.

And then you find yourself talking about things you never used to talk about. Your health. Oh sure, you used complain about those yearly mammograms (you’d think with all this technology that they could do away with squeezing your breasts between those cold pancake turners and simply press your breasts up to an iPhone for the x-ray) and those oh-so-invasive pap smears. But health issues didn’t rank up there with gossiping about the overly-dressed woman who just wouldn’t stop talking at the PTA meeting. Or the fabulous shoe sale at Nordstrom’s.

But somehow over the past few years, health has crept into more and more of our conversations. Take the other night, for example. My husband and I were having dinner with some friends. The Rolling Stones were playing softly in the backyard (any louder and we wouldn’t be able to hear each other talk) when suddenly I realized we had just spent an entire hour talking about medical procedures.
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About high blood pressure instead of the pressure in our bike tires after those long rides we used to take. About trips to the ER instead of taking trips to an altered state of mind. Not that spending time in the ER isn’t like going to an altered universe, but it certainly isn’t as much fun. About blood tests instead of pregnancy tests. About the differences between HDL’s and LDL’s instead of MBA’s and MFA’s.

And I realized the word “stroke” had been in several of my conversations lately and not in reference to swimming across a pool of water. But the pool of life and how suddenly the waters can change.

Oh sure, this isn’t all we talked about. But somehow now that I’ve passed the middle of my life, these issues are calling out for my attention.

I’m going to listen to what my body is telling me. Even if it takes a few conversations to fully understand what’s being said. And I’m going to do all I can to help my friends and family listen to theirs.

As the The Rolling Stones sang…
“Well, we all need someone we can lean on
And if you want it, you can lean on me
Yeah, we all need someone we can lean on
And if you want it, you can lean on me.”

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Then: Face To Face Now: Facebook

Then: Face To Face


Now:  Facebook


After several days of self-diagnosis, I have come to the conclusion that I have SchizoFriendia.  Before I tell you my symptoms, I’d like to back up a bit and explain the root of this problem, which lies in my childhood.  Freud – are you listening?

As a toddler, I had an imaginary friend.  To protect his identity, I won’t mention his name at this time.  After all, he may still be alive and well and befriending some other little toddler in need of his affections.

Entering elementary school, I left my IF (imaginary friend) behind and eventually became friends with the one girl that I had admired from afar, who to this day is still my BFF.

Throughout junior high and high school, it was pretty much the same.  Me, my BFF and one or two other friends.

Without a large pool from which to pull, if all my friends were absent on a particular day, that posed a problem.  I had no one to eat lunch with.  Which more often that not meant eating lunch in the bathroom stall.  Lest you feel a pang of sorrow for me, please note that I gained quite a lot of knowledge about life from that hidden spot.

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And therein lies the basis of my current affliction.  SchizoFriendia – The need to amass as many friends as I can get on my new playground: Facebook

Every day when I log on, my adrenalin starts pumping.  Do I have a new friend request?  Did the person I ask to be my friend accept my friendship?  Do I have as many friends as  my friends have?

I search through my new friend’s friends and send out friend requests to their friends.  100 friends.  200.  500!  How many can I get?

I’m collecting friends as if they are a commodities.  Will the value of each friend decrease by the number of friends I end up with?  Or does my value increase by the quantity of friends on my page?  Is a friend from the other side of the country, worth more than one from my own neighborhood?  How about one from outer space?  Or one from the other side?

And then I begin to wonder- who are all these people?  Mary is “wearing Barbie Doll underwear while she bakes chocolate chip cookies.”  Stan is “listening to his bathroom faucet drip to the tune of Oobla-Dee, Oobla-Da.”  Lulu thinks “the color red is dangerous.”

I wish I could stop.  I really do.  Because unlike my IF, I can’t even touch these Facebook friends.  I can’t see them.  Or hear them.  But I know they are out there.   Running races, racing to bus stops, stopping for red lights, redlining manuscripts, managing office politics, politely refusing one-night stands, standing up for what they believe in, believing in the sunrise, flipping eggs over-easy and easily becoming addicted to Scrabble.

Maybe some are even wondering what I am doing.  Sometimes I wonder that too, but that’s a topic for another time.

Right now, I just have one important question to ask you.

Will you be my friend?

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Hello world!

I have known from a very early age that I fell into a group of individuals known as Baby Boomers.   For better or worse, our progress in life as been documented, categorized, analyzed, departmentalized and boomerized

Baby Boomers play hopscotch and tether ball.

Baby Boomers drive faster than the speed limit.

Baby Boomers add MD’s, DDS & PhD’s to their names.

Baby Boomers return home from Viet Nam

Baby Boomers become parents.

From I Love Lucy to Gomer Pyle, there were many funny, wholesome programs vardenafil generic to watch. The common issue is stress viagra low price and relationship problems. Sesame is viagra vs cialis a common ingredient in almost all cuisines around the world. It is available in most of the price for viagra pharmacies. Baby Boomers buy stock in estrogen!

Baby Boomers children have children.

The first Baby Boomer retires.

Baby Boomers learn to blog.

Oldest Living Baby Boomer Tells All.

Well, I may not be around for that story, but I have plenty of my own.   So, I hope you’ll enjoy reading them.

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