About Cathy Green

Posts by Cathy Green:

Cataracts? Could It Possibly Be That Time Already?

Here’s the good news!

Dr. Sean beamed at me as he pushed back from my eye examination.

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He is probably in his mid- 30’s, but he looked like a 12-year old who had just completed the final level of a video game.

Your eyes are healthy!

Great! Now I braced for the bad news.

Well, it isn’t really bad news.

Your cataracts haven’t grown much, so the light flashes you’ve been experiencing in that left eye are due to dryness and irritation from your contact lenses. I’ll be prescribing antibiotic eye drops for a month. And, there’s no sign of glaucoma or macular degeneration… yet.

Yet?

The dry eye and antibiotics information barely registered. That seemed pretty benign. And glaucoma and macular degeneration sounded like things I could put off worrying about for awhile.

Instead, I focused on the part about cataracts. They haven’t grown too much? That means they’ve grown, right?

Dr. Sean patiently explained that all of us (how nice of him to include himself, don’t you think?) will get cataracts as we… cough, cough… get older.

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They get worse over time, but it’s not a big deal, he said.  At some point we just have to have them removed from our eyes.

Removed …  that means cut out.

So, when will I need to have it done?

He smiled and patiently explained that my cataracts could suddenly grow larger or it could take another few years

We’ll know when it’s time, he said kindly and I thought he was going to pat me on the head.

When I got home with my antibiotic eye drops, I went immediately to my primary self-diagnosis website, WebMD.

“Cataracts cloud the lens of the eye, and can affect people of any age, but are most common in men and women age 65 and older.  Approximately 75 percent of people age 75 and older have cataracts.”

 

So, I’m definitely in the age zone. But what exactly are cataracts?

“A cataract is a progressive, painless clouding of the natural, internal lens of the eye. Cataracts block light, making it difficult to see clearly.”

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“Over an extended period of time, cataracts can cause blindness”

Now that’s scary.

Here’s what else I learned, in no particular order of additional scariness:

  • Outpatient cataract surgery involves removing the clouded lens via suction. (Suction in my eye?)
  • The lens is replaced with a clear, artificial, plastic one. (I’ll have plastic permanently residing in my eye?)
  • It’s the most frequently performed surgery in the US, with 1.5 million surgeries done each year. (That’s a lot of Porsche payments for ophthalmologists.)

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  • At least 90 percent of people who have cataract surgery have vision improvement. (What about the other 10%?)
  • The operation lasts less than one hour and is almost painless. (Almost?)
  • Most people choose to stay awake during the operation (Are you kidding me?)
  • Someone will need to drive you home. (As if you have to make a special point of this?)

I actually know quite a few people who have had cataracts removed.  They’re happy. They say they got instantaneous great results. They say they should have done it sooner. They say it’s a piece of cake.

I’m glad for them, but I just don’t like the thought of eye surgery for me.

I was never one of those people, for example, who was brave enough to do LASIK eye surgery to correct my farsightedness, even when it was trendy.  I had enough problems just getting used to my contact lenses and remembering where I put my glasses.

But since I plan to be around into my 90’s, playing golf and streaming videos on my iPad (or its equivalent in the 2040’s), this surgery doesn’t look like it’s going to be optional.

But I think I’ll opt not to be awake.

Cathy Green

Do I Use The Word “Great” Too Much?

Golf course attendant: How was your golf game today, Ms. Green?

Me: Great! Thanks.

Waiter: How was your dinner this evening?

Me: Great! Thanks.

Anyone:  How are you doing today?

Me: Great! Thanks. 

I think I’m overusing the word great, but I’m not sure what to say instead.

According to the dictionary, I am using great in its informal variation which means very good or satisfactory.

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If suppose I could use “very good” more often.  Or maybe “fine”. But they sound quite a bit less great than great.  How are you doing today? Fine.  (Hmmm… what’s her problem?)

Saying “satisfactory” is even less satisfactory.  How was your dinner? Satisfactory. Thanks. (Alert: smaller tip on the way)

If I were younger, I could say “awesome” or “amazing” or “incredible” like the millennials. But at my age?

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If I were older, I could say A-OK, super-duper or honky-dory, but only my assisted living roommates would get it.

I suppose I could say “delightful” or “splendid” or “lovely”, but those sound pretentious. How was dinner?  Delightful, my dear. Such a splendid trout almondine.

I could also say “fantastic”, “fabulous*”, “terrific” or “marvelous” but those are considerably more bullish sounding than the word great, so I’d have to be in a really, really great mood to use one of them. (There I go again).

*This blog site is called Fabulous over 60. Great over 60 would have sounded a lot less fabulous, don’t you think?

I’m obviously not alone in my overuse of the word “great”.  

In a column by Asheville Citizen-Times columnist Nancy Williams called Surviving the Other Party’s Convention, she writes about a competition she had with her sister during both presidential conventions this year:

Competition. We play Exer-jargon, a game we made up where we each pick a word for the other sister, who has to do a sit-up every time the word is said. Couldn’t be a proper noun. I picked “country.” She picked “great.” I didn’t keep count of who did how many sit-ups, but I’m telling you politicians need some synonyms for great. It’s overused. I just stayed on the floor and waited. I got several double-whammies for things and people who are great, great whatevers.

Exer-jargon sounds like fun. Certainly a lot more fun than watching the conventions.

I searched the internet for lists of the most overused words. To my surprise, great was NOT on any of them, but awesome and amazing and incredible were. Take that, millennials!

By the way, some of the most overused words on recent lists were:

Literally

Seriously

Absolutely

Basically

Really

And…

Whatever!

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I seriously would never use the word whatever, but I absolutely use the others a lot. Really!

So, even though it didn’t make the overused words lists, is it a great idea for me to be so greatly dependant on one single word to describe a great dinner, a great conversation, a great day or a great golf game?

Or is there a great alternative?  Help!

Cathy

If In Doubt…. Don’t Press Send!

Emails have been in the news a lot these past few months… and not in a good way. Just this week, Democratic National Committee (DNC) Chairwoman Debbie Wasserman Schultz was found to have sent emails that shouldn’t have been sent and which she does regret sending.

It reminded me of a blog I wrote in late 2013 about the importance of being careful using emails in emotionally charged situations. Although they appear to be a great way to have quick communication, they also have an incredible power to disrupt both friendships and careers. Here is my original post.


I was reminded this past week about the potentially destructive power of email. Two couples … friends of ours and of each other … are no longer speaking. The rupture is so bad that it’s difficult to imagine how it can be repaired.

The issue isn’t as important as how it was handled. The first couple – who now admit that their first email was a mistake – sent it anyway. The response from the second couple was highly emotional – “scathing” is a word I’ve heard used to describe it. In fact, the clear message was that the friendship was over. The first couple sent another email apologizing and explaining. There has been no response.

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I haven’t actually seen any of the emails and I’ve only talked to the first couple about them. However, I think I understand the situation well enough to say that the emails … all of them … should never have been written or, more importantly, sent. In fact, I suspect that they were difficult to write and that both parties wrote at least a couple of versions of them. I also suspect that if everyone was being totally honest with themselves and others, they would say that they wish they could take them back.

Not too long ago, I was angry with an out of state friend. Again, the reason isn’t important. I immediately sat down and wrote an email. Then I wrote another version. I didn’t think I had the right tone, so I wrote it again. This one was better, but I still had a nagging suspicion that it didn’t capture the issue well enough. I decided to wait and try later. The issue weighed on me the rest of the day. I composed different versions of the note in my head. And then I began to think about receiving it as if I were my friend.

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That’s when it hit me. This issue was not an email issue. It required a phone call… a real discussion. So the rest of that day and the next I thought about the conversation rather than the words I’d use in an email. It was difficult to pick up the phone to call… but it was absolutely the right thing to do. I learned that my friend felt conflicted by the issue too. We had a great discussion and resolved it easily. A weight had been lifted off my shoulders and we were better friends than ever.

I can’t say that I’ve never sent an email I regret. But I think I’m even less likely to do it in the future given the recent sad story of my two friends.

When I talked to Ray about it, he said that Billy C. Owen, his Master Chief in the Navy, used to say: “Once you pull the trigger, you can’t get the bullet back in the gun.”

The wrong email is like a bullet you can’t get back.

So, I have a new rule for myself: If an issue is potentially emotional, if it’s difficult to write, or if it could be misinterpreted, I’m going to pick up the phone or … even better, if possible … have a face-to-face discussion.

I wish one of our sets of friends would do that now. Maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late?

Cathy Green

Are Road Trips Worse Than They Used To Be … Or Is My Age Showing?

I’ll admit that I’ve never liked road trips. I remember several long six-hour summertime drives from Cincinnati, Ohio to Gatlinburg, Tennessee in the 50’s and 60’s with my dad, mom, sister and brother in our non air-conditioned car.  There was also one horrendous 20 hour drive to Hollywood, Florida that no one in our family ever discussed again.1

These trips were definitely not relaxing, although I assume that is what my dad and mom had in mind as we were pulling out of our driveway.

My own feeling about these road trip vacations was that eating greasy fried food in Gatlinburg or getting sunburned and insect-bitten on the beach in Florida wasn’t worth my car sickness, my dad’s irritability, or putting up with my annoying baby brother. And counting the number of cows on my side of the road was the most boring game on the planet.

Lately, since our semi-retirement, my husband and I have been taking road trips of several hours from Asheville to places like Charleston, Charlotte, Cincinnati and Nashville as well as a few 12 hour drives to Florida and one three day drive to Maine.  I therefore consider myself an expert on road-tripping.

Here are just some of my recent observations:

Bathrooms:

This one comes to mind first since it is first and foremost on my mind on road trips. To put it bluntly, I’m over 60, I’m a woman and I have to pee a lot. The good news is that, unlike the old days when dad was driving and couldn’t find anywhere to take his whiny kids, there are usually many options – and most of them are relatively clean. Fast food restaurants, rest stops, gas stations and convenience stores abound on the highways and byways of our nation.*

*This is NOT true when traveling on mountainous stretches of highways in Tennessee and the Carolinas. Be warned, over-60 travelers!

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The bad news is that there are some very weird people at these stops, as well as crabby children, surly clerks and lots of tempting stuff to drink and eat which perpetuates the need to make another stop further up the road, creating a vicious cycle.

Food:

In my normal (non road-tripping) life, I rarely eat stuff as bad as what I eat on the road. McDonalds hamburgers and fries are the fastest way to eat and stay on my husband’s schedule*, Waffle House eggs and pancakes make a quick late morning meal, and trail mixes (the ones with candy included for energy, of course) are easy to pick up on bathroom breaks along with my large Diet Coke and Ray’s ice.** I’ve even been known to indulge in a Dunkin Donuts glazed donut when I’m especially hungry in the morning which, for some reason, is true of most mornings on road trips.

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These are not good choices, I know, but I can somehow justify it more easily when I’m a bored passenger on a long trip. (See next category)

*We really don’t need to stay on schedule. However, Ray is very happy when we get to our destination a few minutes early. It apparently proves his superior driving abilities.

** Ray chomps on ice to stay alert during our trips.  If any of you have husbands who do this as well, my condolences. The only good news is that he has to stop for bathroom breaks too. I sometimes play a silent little game called “who’s going to say ‘let’s stop’ first”. I hold out as long as I can.

Boredom:

My husband does most of the driving. He says that he likes to drive. What he means is that he doesn’t like me to drive since we might travel 2 miles per hour slower and get to our destination a few minutes later than planned. I am not one of those people who can sleep in a car, and reading doesn’t work for me either. Since my husband and I spend a lot of time together these days, there isn’t a lot we need to talk about except where we want to stop for lunch. I don’t have anything else to do but read billboards, so I have a lot of suggestions. As I wait for the next food or bathroom stop, I watch fields and towns fly by while checking the Jeep’s GPS dashboard every few minutes to see how many more hours and minutes remain in our trip. When the mileage dips below 400 and then 350, 300, 250, etc, I get really excited about our progress. Yes, I realize that’s a sad comment.

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Trucks:

I remember liking big trucks when I was a kid. My dad would often cruise behind one of them so that he wouldn’t get a speeding ticket. “Those guys have CB radios and know where the cops are.” he’d say. My dorky younger brother would even pump his arm out of the car window and the truckers would honk at us.

These days, I don’t view truckers as my friends. For one thing, there are just too many trucks on the highways, they go very fast, and they seem a lot bigger than they used to. Since we are often wending our way through mountains, these huge trucks can be extremely intimidating. They barely fit on their side of the road, which I’d often like to remind them is the right-hand lane.  I find myself closing my eyes and praying as our car squeaks through a small opening between a concrete barrier on the left and a monstrous rig on the right.

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By the way, I think it’s great when trucks have to pull into the weigh stations. Briefly, so very briefly, there are only cars around us on the highway. Enjoy your stop, guys!

I could go on and on sharing other brilliant observations about road trips since I haven’t even touched on road repair delays, traveling with our dog or overnight stays in high-churn, low-comfort highway hotels. However, I’m getting anxious just thinking about our next trip to Blowing Rock, NC this month.  It’s only 2 ½ hours away, but we’ll be traveling on mountainous roads and I’m already worried about bathroom options.

I wonder if I’ll be able to get a glazed donut on the way.

Cathy Green

I’m Not Sleeping and My Cat Knows Why

Last year, I wrote that Ms. Blue, my elderly Maine Coon cat, was keeping me up at night by meowing loudly in my face. I also shared my husband’s thoughts on the subject as he moved to another bedroom!

I asked for help from readers and got some good ideas.

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Here’s an update: For her sake and mine, I decided to lock Ms. Blue in another room at night with her treats, her food and her litter box. It took several weeks for her to understand that howling at the door was not going to get her out of that room and into my face.  

She is doing much better now, I’m sleeping again and my husband is back in our bed.  A happy ending!

Here’s the link to my original blog about my dilemma.

The 70’s Rock Concert That Didn’t Rock!

We just bought tickets to see Boz Scaggs and Michael McDonald at the Biltmore Estate’s Summer Concert Series in our hometown of Asheville, NC.  Both performers are favorites and the venue is incredible.  Concerts are held under the stars on the grounds of the beautiful  Biltmore House.  I can’t wait!

This year, however, I’m going to nap in the afternoon and drink nothing all day. Why?  Here’s a blog post I wrote about another concert at the Biltmore House in 2014.  The 70’s Rock Concert That Didn’t Rock!

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Things That Should Have Killed Us in the 1950’s

At a family reunion this weekend, sitting around with my husband Ray’s cousins who grew up together in the 50’s, I was reminded how surprising it is that we all survived our childhoods!  

Ray shared with his cousins that he used to order snakes .. including poisonous ones .. through the mail. His parents knew about it and encouraged his interest in herpetology. Unreal!   

Here’s a blog I wrote last year about some of the other things that should have killed us as kids in the 50’s.  I’m sure many of you will relate!


Those of us in our 60’s like to brag that we lived through a lot of things that parents today worry about incessantly. But some of us – including me – think our parents should have worried a little more!

We all know that cars didn’t have seat belts in the 50’s and we shake our heads remembering how dangerous that must have been – especially since today’s news stories constantly remind us that car seats have to be chosen with extreme care.

Car seats? The only car seats available in the 50’s were designed to “bolster” children so that that they could look out the window and not move around so much. A few early protective car seats began to be used in the 60’s, but it wasn’t until the 70’s that they really got on a roll.

I remember dad driving home from many family parties in the 50’s after partaking of a couple, if not several, Manhattans. We three kids, all 10 and under, would be in the back seat dozing or fighting – probably more of the latter – while mom (who didn’t drive) would hold on tight, work her feet on imaginary pedals and say, as sweetly as possible – “Joe, don’t you think you should drive a little slower, dear?”

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I also remember leaving the house early in the morning on lazy Cincinnati summer days and staying out until lunch – or sometimes even until dinner. I would be at a friend’s house on my street, riding my bike up and down neighboring streets, or going to the drugstore a few blocks away to get a Cherry Coke. There were no cell phones and no electronic trackers… in other words, no way for Mom to know where I was. I don’t remember her being all that concerned about it, either.

I asked my husband, Ray, what he remembered about the 1950’s and the dangers lurking for kids in his small town of Gaffney, SC. Riding bicycles with his friends behind the DDT spraying trucks came immediately to mind. Apparently, at that time, in areas where mosquito populations were high, the government decided that spraying a few times a week would help cut down on malaria. Parents, his included, encouraged the fun. DDT was finally banned in 1972.

Here’s a photo if you don’t believe me:

DDT spraying truck

DDT spraying truck

Another story Ray told was about accompanying his mom to Gaffney’s downtown shoe store and getting his feet x-rayed in something called a fluoroscope. The machine, operated by the shoe store salesman, had a little box on the bottom where he would put his feet through in a new pair of shoes. The x-ray would be turned on and Ray’s mom and the salesman could look through the viewing windows to see if the shoes fit well – that is, if there seemed to be enough room for all of the bones in his feet. According to articles I found on the internet, the only safety shield on the fluoroscope was a tiny layer of aluminum and the manufacturers’ brochures recommended that the stores place the fluoroscope in the middle of the store for easy access.

Sometimes, Ray and his friends would stick their hands in the hole and look at each others’ bones. The kids loved it! What fun!

Fluoroscopes were almost universally banned by the 1970’s

Fluoroscopes were almost universally banned by the 1970’s

These stories, of course, highlight only a few of the hazards we faced in the 1950’s. Toy arrows with rubber tips that could be taken off easily, a radioactive science kit called the Atomic Energy Lab, baby oil that we slathered on our skins for a great sunburn, mercury that we played with when thermostats broke, skating and biking without helmets or knee pads, drinking out of garden hoses … I could go on and on.

So, what were our parents thinking? Well, to be fair to them, they were probably not very clear about the best way to raise kids, especially when they were bombarded with ads like these …

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And…

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Now that I think about it, we are pretty lucky that we made it into the 1960’s, much less into our 60’s!!

Cathy Green

Why I Decided Not to Smoke Cigarettes in the 60’s

I turned 13 in 1963 – a teenager at last. It was time to be rebellious, or at least a little adventuresome.

My parents and my friends’ parents smoked cigarettes, and I watched aunts and uncles smoking at family gatherings.

Smoking was obviously an adult thing to do. They smoked in restaurants, in grocery stores, in movie theaters – just about everywhere. Commercials on TV and ads in newspapers and magazines made it look very attractive and sophisticated.  Even doctors smoked!

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At 13, I was on my way to adulthood, so I had to choose whether to join friends in having a first cigarette.

I chose not to.

I will admit that I inhaled cigarette smoke a couple of times, but I was never really serious about getting started.  (As an 18 year old college student in 1968, I definitely inhaled the other kind of cigarettes – but that’s another story).

When I think about it now, there were at least three reasons I decided not to smoke.

First, around that time, my Grandma Coyle told me that she would kill me if I ever smoked.  I loved her, but she was a tough lady from the hills of Kentucky who could be a little scary.

Second, the Surgeon General’s Report on Smoking and Health was released in 1964 and created some buzz about the possibility of lung cancer and heart disease as a result of smoking. Without today’s fast communication options, the buzz didn’t go far the first couple of years. But in 1966, the federal government mandated that cigarette packs have a warning label on them.  I remember dad being pissed off about that since he was a staunch Republican who felt that “big government should stay out of my business.”

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But the third reason is the one that really kept me from becoming a smoker. The habit was just too dirty! One of my jobs around the house was to clean the plates after dinner, plates that often contained remnants of my mom or dad’s cigarette butts.  There were ashtrays in just about every room of the house that smelled bad, whether they were full of butts or empty.

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There were always ashes on the floor, on the furniture and on the porch. I watched my dad pick pieces of tobacco out of his teeth.  And speaking of teeth, both mom and dad’s teeth were yellowing over time, and they had an unpleasant smoker’s breath.

I remember that they both told me and my brother not to smoke, but neither of them made any attempt that I can recall to stop smoking themselves after the warnings. By that time, they were hooked and even smoked unfiltered Pall Malls “because they taste better” even though filtered cigarettes were available by the 60’s.  (They later switched to filtered, reluctantly.)

When they got hooked in the 40’s as teenagers, smoking was touted in the media as good for you. They bought into it fully and had a hard time believing the 60’s “hype” about how bad it was, even though both of their fathers were developing health issues around that time. I remember my Grandpa Coyle being diagnosed with emphysema and having a difficult time climbing stairs. I can still see him stopping every few steps and hanging on to the banister. (Yes, that is the reason for my grandma’s death threat).

I remember calling my parents on the phone later in my life and listening to my dad coughing when he tried to talk to me. I told him I was concerned and that I wished he would stop smoking. “I have to die of something!” he’d say with a laugh.  Well, he did. He died at age 61 of coronary heart disease. He would probably not have admitted it, but I’m convinced that smoking was the key culprit in his widowmaker heart attack.  I lost him much too early.

And my mom? She quit smoking not long after my dad’s death and lived for 17 years without nicotine. But it was too late. She developed emphysema, which worsened over the last 10 years of her life and ultimately killed her at age 78.  I asked her once what she most regretted in life and she said without any hesitation, “Smoking cigarettes all those years. It made my later life hell”.

According to an analysis published in 2014 in the Journal of the American Medical Association, (JAMA), eight million Americans avoided premature death as a result of the tobacco control efforts launched in 1964 and life expectancy over time increased by 30%. But it also estimated that 17.7 million Americans have died since 1964 from smoking-related causes and that 1 in 5 American adults still smoke today – that’s 43 million people. Source here.

I don’t know many people in my circle of friends or family who smoke these days, but I continue to see teenagers puffing on cigarettes or the newest fad, e-cigarettes.

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I’m tempted to ask them why they don’t think it’s harmful, even with so much easily accessible information, warning labels and fewer ads.

But what I’d really like to know is if their parents smoked and if they had to clean up the dirty dishes!

Cathy Green

PS. I was reminded about smoking when I enjoyed watching Good Night and Good Luck last week… a 2005 movie about Edward R. Murrow in the 1950’s and his impact on the Senator McCarthy hearings. Murrow had a cigarette in his hand throughout the entire movie  –  apparently he was never without one – and everyone else in the CBS newsroom was smoking too.  It was jarring to be reminded about how prevalent it was back then!

Right On! Teenagers in the 1960’s had the Best Slang

Being a teenager in the 60’s was really groovy!

Groovy was a way cooler word than “cool” or any other word meant to describe the best of the best.  Evolving from the word “grooves” in vinyl records, we even had groovy songs like:  “We’ve Got a Groovy Kind of Love” by The Mindbenders in 1965, “We’ve Got a Groovy Thing Goin’ by Simon and Garfunkel in 1965, and Groovin’” by The Young Rascals in ’67.

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Groovy may have been the best word, but here’s a walk down memory lane for all of us 60’s teens.

  • We told our friends to be there or be square. We got bummed out if things didn’t go our way.  We claimed dibs on things we wanted.
  • We dreamed about having our own pad and bread, didn’t like anyone who was a spaz, a dip-stick, a square, a candy-ass or a fink.
  • We knew some greasers with their slicked-back hair, and knew that there were some girls who were fast and might even go all the way.
  • We weren’t above a little making out and swapping spit at the drive-in Passion Pit, however, and even got to cop a feel once in a while if we were going steady.  An occasional hickey was kind of funky too.

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  • We would talk on the horn for hours with the twisted cord pulled taut around doors for privacy, especially about hunks or skirts or the skuzzy kids or ditzes we didn’t like.
  • We tooled around town and then peeled out of parking lots in our cars and sometimes did a Chinese fire drill at a red light just for fun.
  • We told our little brothers, who were a pain in the wazoo, to flake off and quit bugging us. We told our Old Lady and Old Man not to be so uptight or go ape or freak out.
  • Some of us were hippies and flower children, or at least wanted to be. We were laid back and snuck a toke once in a while. And sometimes we even got blitzed.

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  • If we were girls, we wore thongs on our feet and covered our zits with make-up.
  • If we were guys, we wore our shades while checking out the choicest girls to hit on.
  • Everything was cool or neat. Awesome things were bad. Incredible things were far out. Disgusting things were raunchy. Strange things were kooky. And anything we didn’t like was lame.
  • We spun our vinyls to listen to I’m a Believer, I Want to Hold Your Hand, Big Girls Don’t Cry and Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In. Outta Sight, man!
  • We watched Bonanza, Perry Mason, The Twilight Zone, Gunsmoke and What’s My Line on the boob tube, and were lucky enough to see the Fab Four on the Ed Sullivan Show.
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If you need a caption for this one you likely are a spaz

  • We didn’t take criticism well. Tough toenails if you didn’t like what we were doing. Go ahead and call the fuzz!
  • We greeted everyone with “what’s happenin” and waved “later” when we beat feet.
  • We bummed a smoke and told our friends to lay it on us when we wanted to hear the scoop.
  • We had a blast, we hung loose, we mellowed out, we complained about living in Nowheresville, we booked it when it was time to leave, we pigged out on fast food and we flipped the bird when we got insulted. It was a gas!

Yes, some of these great words and expressions snuck into the 60’s from the 50’s and even earlier, and some have carried on through later generations.

But in my humble 1960’s teenager opinion, we had the coolest and grooviest and hippest slang of all time.

If you agree, say Right On!

If you don’t, shut your face!

Cathy Green

P.S.   I used over 70 words/phrases in this blog. What’s really neato is that I could have used even more.  What a generation of creative wordsmiths we were! Groovy, huh?

Working Out At the Gym: Can You Guess What I Hate the Most?

This morning, my personal trainer, Chuck, told me that I had cat hair on my black workout pants. Sigh.  It reminded me that I wrote a blog in 2013 about what I hate most about working out. Here it is again!

Twice a week, I have breakfast, make my bed, get dressed in my exercise clothes and drive 10 minutes to a gym to work out with my personal trainer, Chuck. I know myself well enough to know that I wouldn’t exercise if I didn’t have someone waiting for me who had been paid to be there.

I work out with weights, ropes, bands, balls, a baseball bat (don’t ask) and, occasionally, boxing gloves. I groan (lots) and sweat (some) for about an hour… then Chuck makes me stretch my aching body so that I can walk to my car.

Do I work out to get thin? That would be nice, but there’s little chance of that happening at this point. No, I work out to stay as flexible as possible, to deal with impending over-60 balance issues, and to keep the flab under my arms from drooping so much that I can’t wear anything that doesn’t have long sleeves.

I definitely don’t work out for pleasure and I probably wouldn’t do it if there was a pharmaceutical alternative. However, I have to admit that I feel better about myself and have more energy when I work out than when I find excuses not to.

There are many things I don’t like about the experience, but what do I like the least?

  • Is it the drive to and from the gym?
  • Is it the aches and pains of calf raises?
  • Is it the 200th squat of the session?
  • Is it the tiresome trainer saying “just 3 more”?

No. All of these are on my top 10 list, but the thing that really bothers me the most are the mirrors.

All gyms have mirrors. They cover most walls. They are big and unavoidable.

Trainers will tell you that it’s important to have correct “form” to achieve maximum benefit from your exercises and that mirrors are the way to check your posture. I don’t believe it. Mirrors are for the trainers, body builders and 20 and 30 year old exercise fanatics to admire their sexy bodies in their body-hugging “fitness attire”.

Mirrors are definitely NOT for 60-something women who show up at the gym with baggy black t-shirts and wild hair pulled back in a scraggly ponytail. (While working out with Chuck, I am often shocked when I inadvertently glance in one of the mirrors – where did that old lady come from?)

I know what I’m talking about. I was a gym regular in my 20’s and 30’s (and even into my 40’s) and wore the latest, most fashionable and colorful gear I could find. Remember stretchy wrist bracelets, scrunch socks and head bands? Here’s Cher in the 80’s in case you don’t:

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In my younger years, I often checked out my exercise “form” … which really meant checking out my thin and toned body in my great new clothes. Mirrors were my friends.

Not anymore.

So, Chuck, please don’t tell me what the mirrors are for. I know what they are for and I don’t want to have anything to do with them. Point me toward a wall and earn your money by making sure I have the right “form”, OK?

Gyms are never going to take down the mirrors or provide curtains that can be pulled shut over them, so I guess I will just have to continue to “suck it up” (in more ways than one).

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Cathy Green

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