Sixty Is the New Sixty

This post is by friend, pharmacist, and mystery writer Don Weiss.

So fellow sexagenarians, here is something that unfortunately is not new to men and women of our vintage: too young to retire, too young for Medicare, too young for social security, and out of work.

I’ve recently joined the ranks of the unemployed, going from a six figure salary to zilch with the stroke of a pen, and from the primary bread winner to a collector (if you can even get it) of unemployment.  In Florida, by the way, that is $275.00/week.

When you have fewer years in front of you than behind you, when you’ve collected as many bruises on our collective butts as we have, and your approaching golden years have turned to lead, you get hit with a harder dose of reality than you’ve ever been hit with before.  When your spouse has to bear the entire burden, when you begin to dip into your savings and prepare for the possibility of cashing out your IRAs, 401Ks, 403Bs or whatever nest egg you’ve managed to build up, you’re in total survival mode. You stop spending money except for necessities and all your plans go out the window. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to you, because you followed all of the rules and paid your dues.

You send out resume after resume, only to find out how much the world has changed.  Everything is online. Application after application is filled out and disappears into the ether. No longer do you talk to a person. Everything is detached, and if you do get an interview, chances are you'll get an email saying: We’re sorry, but we’re pursuing other candidates whose experience fits our needs better. But thanks for your interest in our company.  In English that means: we’ve got younger applicants and we can pay a lot less than we have to pay you. When people started to become human resources, everything became depersonalized.  When Bob Dylan wrote "The Times They Are Changin'," they did; but not for the better.  You consider taking jobs for a lot less money just so you can work again, just so you have your self-respect.  You start to second-guess everything and your confidence is at an all-time low.

Then something happens. You get news that someone you know, someone just like you, has been diagnosed with a terminal illness.  Then this bump in the road becomes just that, a bump. Sure you have the aches and pains that come from getting older. You’ve had this blow to your self confidence and self respect but you’re going to live to fight another day, and that’s what you do. You spit in their eye and say, I’m still here, and you send out more resumes.

Role Models for Twenty-Somethings: Grandpa and Grandma



Pam's parents, Ev and Walt, who are the subjects of her book, A Survival Guide for Children with Elderly Parents (Who Still Have Their Marbles)

Mireille Silcoff wrote a piece in the NY Times Magazine on April 28, 2013, about a rage called "Advanced Style."  The rage was created by  31-year-old Ari Cohen in his coffee table book featuring photos of women, mostly, who are too old to care what the latest style is.  By not caring, the women create a style of their own.  It's called "dressing for yourself instead of other people."

So, if you're over seventy, don't throw out your old stuff.  The twenty-somethings and thirty-somethings want to get their hands on it.  Put it on E-bay.

Which led me to wonder about the twenty-somethings:
-don't they know the shirts are stained with tobacco drool from grandpa's pipe?
-don't they know the pants have holes in not-so-appropriate places?
-don't they know the orthodic shoes are misshapen from the bunions that grew inside?
-don't they know the sweat stains in grandpa's baseball caps will never disappear?
-don't they know that tea cozies are dust collectors?
-don't they know that grandma's handknit afghans smells of moth balls?
-don't they know the thick socks with nonskid rubber underneath are from hospital overnights?
-don't they know that platinum highlights will come naturally?
-don't they know that herb-scented enlightenment is a reward after fifty years of working overtime?
-don't they know that retirement's freedom was paid for with a social security system
     that is broken, a pension that was tithed, and a savings account that started
     the minute grandma and grandpa married?

I guess the appeal of the twilight years is their authenticity.  You can eat when you want, fart when you want, sleep when you want, make love when you want, stay up all night on the computer if you want, wear what you want, follow the dream you want, go where you want. 

That's assuming you can still walk and see and digest and hear and have money to get there.  "Getting old is not for sissies," the saying goes, and that's certainly true.  But twenty-somethings don't want to hear about back pain, hip and knee replacements, arthritis flare-ups,  kidney stones, and cataracts.

Their grandpas and grandmas have held them in diapers, attended their graduations, walked down the aisle at their weddings, and now are travelling around the world with them.  They have become role models who have the younger generation's attention, and that is a testament unto itself in this culture of risk and exponentially increasing speed.  Grandma and grandpa's histories need to be repeated, and time is of the essence.  Forget the vinyl and afghans.  Forget style.  Tell the stories.

The Boys Farmer's Market, Delray Beach, Florida

Prerequisites to Shop at The Boys:

1. Yoga meditation, to obtain a state of Nirvana before entering.

2. Steel-toed construction shoes (absolutely NO flip-flops or sandals) to prevent
your toes from getting crushed.

3. A large steel grocery cart (bring your own, if possible) to act as a buffer between your shins and the senior citizens (in town from N.Y. and hunting for quality for pennies) who use theirs as bumper cars. This will also allow you
to block the itsy-bitsy aisles so you won't have to try to pass the market's
mini-carts left helter-skelter wherever there is a free sample.

4. An appreciation of the martial arts, since you might catch FREE OF CHARGE a fist fight between a driver waiting for someone to back out and a newcomer who outhustles him for the same space.

5. Infinite patience with the cashiers, who have been trained in hand-to-hand combat and supercilious attitudes.

6. A translator to understand the myriad food samples the Mexican employees offer you inside.

7. A book of N.Y. slang expressions (with phonemes, if possible). If the visiting seniors TELL you to move your cart over, you will be able to understand them to give an appropriate reply.

8. An IPOD so you can disregard the previous item.

The Boys Farmer's Market is a permanent structure with year-round indoor market. It's been open since 1988, when the father from (guess where?) New York City chose the location. The sons have continued the operation, while next-door, The Girls Strawberry Patch (the daughters?) sells gifts and allows picking. At least the rows of strawberries are maneuverable there!

If you should survive the parking lot (do NOT park near the entrance!), you enter a space where 350 people are crammed into what should hold 100. It's a maze. To the right is the bakery, with mile-high cakes and pies, though no bargain! If you are tempted by a slice of their famous raisin walnut bread, you must pull your cart off to the side to sidle over to inspect. Suddenly you feel your elbow jostled and a white-haired couple wedges in front of you to shout their order to the clerk, who is still wrapping a dozen eclairs. Why are these retirees in such a rush? I'm a retired senior citizen, too! Where do they have to go but home, to reheat the prepared meals they'll pick up here - if they get through the one-way maze to the rear of the store?

BEST cheese, tomatoes, fresh-cut fruits, lamb, steaks, international foods, and killer fresh-squeezed juice!! But if there's a deal that seems too good to be true, check the expiration date. The package may expire in two days!

If you succeed, without bleeding shins, in reaching the lettuces at the far end of the maze, you begin to congratulate yourself. The golden fleece (cashier's counter) is within sight! But not so fast! You have now entered The Twilight Zone, where shoppers take on strange personalities.

At the end of each produce aisle is a five-foot open space before cashiers' counters begin. In this space, produce shoppers are making the turn to get down the next aisle. It is also the space where The Smugs (those who have finished) have taken up residence. Since there is only room for three mini-carts in each check-out line, The Smugs spill into each other, while the unfortunates still shopping must cut through them to the next aisle.

Choosing the right check-out line is crucial! You must count the number of items in both carts ahead of you and judge if the shoppers look intelligent (will pay rapidly) and can speak English. There is no retreat and no turning around!

On my last venture to The Boys (six months ago), a shopper had placed all her items on the conveyor belt. Suddenly, a hand flew over her mouth. "I forgot the wine from Argentina," she said and somehow managed to wedge herself out of the line to run off.

The Smug behind her (in front of me) spewed Italian. "Santa Maria! Non e possible!" She made rapid hand gestures and got louder and louder.

I was the last of the three in the line. There was no room to turn around to join another. The line for the next register was at my hip. I smiled sweetly at the Italian and shrugged my shoulders. I prayed the Argentinian wine was in stock!

The cashier glared at the inconsiderate shopper when she returned. "You have held up my line!" she lectured. "Next time, bring a list and a pencil!"

"That won't help," I blurted out. "You'll get run over if you try to read it!"