Age? Bring it …

I’m not one who’s ever obsessed over age. It really has just been a number to me. Growing up and into my 20s, I spent a lot of time with my mother’s friends, who never treated me like a kid; and, as a result, I always felt like they were my friends, too.

In my youth I was attracted to older men and a lot of the guys I dated were at least 10 years older than I was. One was actually not much younger than my mother, yes, scandalous I know.

Now I have friends who are my age, friends who are

The mind’s willing but the body isn’t …

Like my mother, I’m a film lover and have been since childhood. I was in my glory when I moved to Toronto and realized that, for 10 days every September, it was home to TIFF (Toronto International Film Festival).

I’ve cancelled or delayed many a vacation in my time, but those 10 days were sacrosanct. I looked forward to the festival all year and I

Life, tortillas and Antonio Banderas

Right now you haven’t got a clue where I’m going with this, do you?  Patience my friends, all will become clear.

But first, let me start by saying that Isabel Allende is one of my favourite authors. I’ve read all but one (her latest and it’s on my list) of her books, many of them multiple times. She takes you on magical voyages, not all of which are fiction.

Knowing this, last weekend a friend sent me a link to a Ted Talk she gave in March 2014: “How to live passionately — no matter your age.” OMG!  You owe it to yourself to watch it here.

Of course, given my recent post on meditating, avoiding negativity and embracing happiness the timing was absolutely impeccable. Allende’s 

A rather painful discovery

Last Saturday a friend and I went to see the Jean-Michel Basquiat exhibit at the AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario).  We also signed up for, and attended, an all-day symposium on the artist, his work, his influence (then and now) and his legacy.

Other than an hour of walking around studying his art early in the morning, we essentially sat in one place from 10:00 a.m. to almost 5:00 p.m.

Well, most people sat.  I fidgeted.

Not because I was bored, although the afternoon panel of speakers didn’t exactly enthral me (or anyone else, for that matter from what I observed).  Except for Thelma Golden, Director and 

Day 11. Aging. Disgracefully?

Okay.  Someone has to say it out loud.  Paul McCartney cannot sing any more.  Watching him perform (?) during the Opening Ceremonies at London 2012 was excruciating.  He sang (so to speak) somewhere else recently.  Again it was painful.  And embarrassing.  For him, for God sake!  Is this how he wants to be remembered?  Barely able to croak out a song?  Off key?  He has had a brilliant career.  He is worth millions and millions.  It’s time to pass the microphone.  Really.

I can imagine (no pun intended) how difficult it must be when that realization finally sets in.  “Yes, it’s true.  I have lost my voice.”  Whether it’s because of age, illness, booze, cigarettes, drugs, pollution, dust, damaged vocal cords or the Universe being cruel, one fact remains:  His singing career is over.

Do something else.  He can still be productive.  Start a record label.  Discover and develop talent.  Write a book.  Produce musicals.  Become an entrepreneur.  Travel simply for pleasure.  Relax, spend money and have fun with that new, young wife.

Just please, exit gracefully.

When food is past its prime we toss it without a second thought.  But we are reluctant to face this same reality about ourselves.  We hang on to relationships that are really over, and have been over for years.  We say it’s for the children.  Does anyone really believe that it’s better for kids to live in an environment where their parents argue, slam doors, cry, ignore each other, cheat, lie and settle for less than any of them deserve?

We cling to hope when there is none and insist on keeping loved ones plugged into respirators long after they are brain dead.  We tell ourselves it’s because we love