Checkbook Please.

Dad celebrated his 84th birthday last week. While he celebrated, I contemplated being another step closer to that suddenly-I’m-the-parent reality.

I’m contemplating as a result of a conversation with mom where I learned she’s now part of the monthly bill paying activity. For the first time in nearly 60 years. I can’t quite grasp the reality (the control freak gene clearly didn’t come from her) but she’s old-school and then some. Tracking the bills, paying them in a monthly sit down with the checkbook and a notepad has always been my dad’s task. He’s always done the math in his head, keeps the schedule in his head, and balances their accounts to the penny.

So when she said she’s now helping my dad because his handwriting isn’t as good as it used to be (okay, it was never what I’d call good…), I didn’t really hesitate. “You know, I could take that over,” I offered.

“We know you would and will, we just talked about that the other day,” she said, cautiously. “But your dad’s not ready to do that yet. He’ll let you know when he is.”

I didn’t push, just asked how many monthly bills they still had, did they do them all at once, etc. By this time I was thinking auto monthly payments set up online for the cable , land line, utilities, and insurance, and boom, I’d simply need to balance the checkbook occasionally.

“We’ll let you know.”

I expected that. Am used to that response — it’s been pretty common the past couple of years. It’s also a safe bet when I visit next week I’ll be handed a checkbook, and asked to explain how online payments would work. Let’s just hope they don’t connect ATMs with the online concept — they still refuse to use those.

Taking over more and more tasks, involved in seemingly the most mundane decisions in our parents’ lives is a reality I, and a majority of my middle age friends, have come to accept.

Now I’m wondering if there’s not something to be said for the ripping the bandaid off approach. Or, at the very least, shouldn’t there be a manual for this? A schedule that all middle-age children receive as some mid-life right of passage? You’ll need to do this when they reach X age, take away the keys at 80, etc. I’d find that oddly comforting.

For the First Time Ever

Sadie met her match. Three small children wore her out. Hmmm.

Exercise is Dangerous.

First — I don’t have photo evidence. Second, this isn’t about one-upping Rita’s experience on the C25K trail. But I. Was. Traumatized.

Okay, it was a 10 lb dog at the most. Some sort of terrier — Yorkie, Silky, Norwich — you get the picture. I was on my jog phase, the first trip around the only flat cul de sac in the neighborhood. And granted, my focus was more on the music and the menacing clouds and lightning I may have seen flash than worrying about eminent attack.

The beast came flying out of no where! Not yapping, as it customary for small fry dogs — but snarling. Loudly. I could hear it over Lady Gaga.

I slowed, silly me, first to look back for some human who’d unleashed the hound, then to make sure he/she wasn’t about to trip me up. Not hard to do. Trust me. Though I stayed upright, he/she nipped at my calf, and seriously, had its mouth not been so small, I’m quite sure he would have latched on and stayed there. The human called the beast back to its porch — but I strongly suspected I’d have another encounter when I circled back by. And did.

By that time I was tempted to lose the ear buds and Gaga and school the human on the danger of letting the little guy pursue folks like that. I’m fine with dogs being off leash — in their own yards, especially.

But I’m not okay with surprise attacks at dusk. Not just for my safety — but the dog’s as well. If I’d been more coordinated, he might have been kicked. And had it been a busy street and not a cul de sac, he might have been in danger when he darted across the street.

Exercise is hard enough. I don’t need the added excitement!

 

Lyn Was There.

She'd like to sell sea shells...

A week ago I was on vacation.

Strolling sandy Cape Cod beaches. Overdosing on lobster. Getting a non-Sarah Palinized history lesson in Boston’s North End. People watching in Provincetown.

Today I went back to work. That’s about all I can say about that.

But I have plenty to say about motivation. And lack thereof. Maybe it’s a mid-life moment after having so much time off, but it’s occurred to me I have no idea where to find that missing motivation.

Ten years ago, even five, I was naive enough to believe that someday I might be able to check the ‘retired’ box on some survey form or the other. Those who know me know I’m not an optimist, so it’s quite possible there was a bit of delusion at play there. Maybe I’d win the lottery – 0r my girlfriend would. I’d figure out what I really wanted to do with the rest of my life — and go do it.

I was in my ‘early’ 40s five years ago. Do the math. What is it about crossing the mid point that seems to mean losing any semblance of forward motion for some? That we just settle. Huddle in. Get along as best we can. Try not to grimace more than we smile.

In some twisted way that lack of motivation is what finally brought me to revive the blog. Delusional? No. Just fairly confident I can’t be the only one out here.