My life and work at the turn of my 7th (eek) decade, including - but not limited to - reviews of products, services and travel experiences of interest to baby boomer women.
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Kicks just keep getting harder to buy
Nice legs, don't you think?
Thanks to our mutual increase in physical activity, my husband and I blew through our athletic shoes at the exact same time. What did he do? He hopped down to the running shoe store yesterday, picked out the pair that fit best and bought them. (They happened to be Nikes in this blue ink spot design.) Slam, bam, done and done. Me? I will obsess for a few more hours, then venture downtown for additional obsessing with my unfortunate shoe salesperson. My dilemma: Neon or non-neon. I have been bemoaning the neon craze in athletic wear for some time now. I realize there's a certain safety advantage in having traffic-stopping DayGlo orange shoes, but it seems that neon shoes are a gateway drug leading to all-over neon-ness - shirts, shorts, socks, headbands. Every time I see someone covered in blinding brightness, I have a bad 80s flashback. (I thought fashion from that era is something we all agreed never again to revisit.) Still, the craze does tend to make standard-issue white kicks with grey trim "so ten minutes ago." I realize it's a first world problem but what to do....what to do... ?
A little hot pink at the waist is all the neon I can do.
Boy, I thought I'd never see the old blog again after the whirlwind of life I've had - and am still having - this fall. Thanks for not giving up on me.
First, the wedding in late October came off with only one hitch. (Don't get me started on over-extended wedding planners.) I ended up cobbling an outfit together from Chico's in taupe (my spin on the mother-of-the-groom mandate: Wear beige and keep your mouth shut), threw on a bunch of pearls and an autumnal pashmina, and did my own hair. Boom! Done. The beautiful Sunday evening wedding in the country culminated a week-long string of activities I have come to call Burning Man East due to the predominance of bonfires at various celebrations. Big fun, big exhaustion.
Three days after the newlyweds returned to Brooklyn, my son summoned the hubs to Game 5 of the World Series in Queens (in which the home team was playing the Mets.) The kid flew his old man to NYC, bought tickets for themselves and two others, and put him u…
I've always said that the companies who figure out how to make aging cool will win baby boomers' hearts in the end (or, better yet, a decade or two before the end.) The stakes are high. There are 78 million of us and gazillions of dollars to be made on our inevitable decline. Enter Sabi. With a mission "....to create products that are intuitively and beautifully designed in order to infuse life’s daily rituals with delight," Sabi boasts that their products "marry superb functionality, simplicity, and aesthetics to make the most mundane to-dos – from taking your daily vitamins to taking out the trash – more enjoyable." I received this bevy of review samples in the mail yesterday: pill folio (aka: 'pill organizer'), dispenser, chopper, crusher and holster. I have to admit, I like the look - sleek, simple and utilitarian....although two of my friends have said they'd need 3 pill folios to hold all their supplements. (Sigh.) Still, I give it two…
I got one of those back-handed compliments on my gray hair from a stranger today: "I wish I could do it. But, I'm afraid of looking old....oh, gawd....but YOURS looks great... really!!"
No harm, no foul. It's happened before.
Charla Krupp, author of "How Not to Look Old," once said, "it's such a luxury to be able to go gray. Because it is an aging look, and it means that you don't care about people knowing your age." She was probably right. Thankfully, I've never been shy about stating my age - it's 56, for the record - or asking others their number, especially when playing 'Who do you know?' The gentler, albeit sneakier, way is asking the year they graduated high school, but sometimes I forget and just blurt it out, often taking people aback.
But, does it bother me? The looking older part, I mean?
No. But, admittedly, I'm married. I'm not in the meat market, the job market, or any othe…