I’m not sure I have a lot to say about this topic because my parents didn’t actually age–Mom died at sixty, Dad  at seventy-four, and husband’s dad at sixty-five. But I feel compelled to speak to it because it’s a huge issue for so many Baby Boomers. I’m watching my friends’ parents age. Dee’s widowed mom is in her early eighties and lives in an assisted living facility. She sits, sleeps, watches TV, and goes down to the dining room for meals and the occasional game of cards. Dee goes to see her several times a week to take her groceries, do her laundry, and check on her. Emily’s dad…

I miss my kid. It doesn’t matter that he’s almost 32 years old, married, and has been living 2,000 miles away for nearly nine years. I miss my kid. We generally manage to see one another at least four or five times a year. His dad and I get on a plane or the kid stops by here on what we affectionately refer to as a “fly-by.” He comes through town on his way to or from a business trip. We get to see each other pretty frequently really. And why I’m whining I’ll never know because I talk to him almost daily thanks to free long distance on cell…

…you’re turning sixty today! Like you need your little sis to remind you of this fact! Kate is my second oldest sister, which means, yes, I have another even older sister! Because my mom died at age sixty, that number is huge in my life. In a couple of years, it will be my number.  I figure when my time comes, I’ll either be dead like mom or I can safely stop worrying about dying at sixty.  Some days I seriously worry about that; other days it’s just in the back of my hypochondriacal mind. (WordPress tells me hypochondriacal isn’t a word–well, it should be.) Mostly I try hard to…