…and sometimes win. Eleven years ago, We began a battle with a bureaucracy here in our community. At the time, the worst battle I’d ever fought was with my mother over marrying Husband. So I had no clue how to fight—no armor, no skills, no information. I only knew that our home was in danger and we’d worked hard to make this home what we wanted it to be. I wasn’t about to see it ruined for what I believed was no good reason. The general gist is we live on a small two-lane U.S. highway and the state department of transportation (DOT) had decided they needed to expand it…

…and my back yard is just gorgeous today. Everything is lush and green.  Purple clematis climbs over the arbor by the gardens, vibrant red lilies peek around the pampas grass, which is already taller than me.  Basil and rosemary and lavender fill the air with their pungent scents. Husband just finished the mowing and the trimming, I’ve weeded the gardens, and now we’re sitting on the patio under the umbrella watching a rabbit nibbling in the grass and feeling quite satisfied with ourselves. Later, the neighbors will walk over for our weekly glass of wine and catch-up session. We’ll light the wine-bottle oil lamps, put out chips and salsa, chocolate, …

I’ve had a cantankerous relationship with food my whole life.  Since I became an adult,  I’ve been some level of overweight from really overweight to “you need to lose a few pounds.” And for most of those years, I hated my body. It was fat. Not the American ideal, but curvy and round—not one bit skinny.  For ages, all I wanted was to be THIN. Oh, I’d say, “I just want to be healthy,” but it was a lie. I wanted to be THIN. And I tried every way there was to get THIN–diets, exercise, fasts, laxatives, fiber, you name it…outside of radical chemistry or surgery, I was there. Sometimes…

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…