Newest Blog Entries RSS

“The owner of truth” or in its native Portuguese tongue, “Dono da verdade,” has become one of our favorite new expressions. Folks who possess the trait know how to wait without becoming frustrated or even angry when everything doesn’t run as smoothly as a Swiss timepiece. They shrug, are mildly amused, heartily laugh it off or even rationalize that it doesn’t matter in the great scheme of life. If only we could all think this way and all the time.   We’d like to think we’ve become more patient as we’ve aged, and in some instances, we have. Barbara has...

In a flash, we crossed the threshold from married life to becoming suddenly single at age 50+.  A divorce. A death. But loss of a partner meant a loss of many things—including sleep. No longer was there a warm body in bed beside us. We were scared and anxious at night. In addition, our minds were muddled with all the changes and issues facing us as we tried to figure out how to restart our lives. Sleep became irregular. We were exhausted. And bedtime became another source of anxiety—could we ever close our eyes and drift off peacefully?  Sound familiar? ...

Sleep for many of us aged 50-plus has become elusive. Hormones. Worry. Busy minds. A snoring husband or partner.   Perhaps, you live in an area with sirens screaming all night, your room is too hot, you don’t have black out shades on your windows, packed to-do lists, your mind is spinning faster than a Mario Andretti race, or unsettling news before bedtime about the bombing of Syria and fear if you do fall asleep, you might not wake up in the morning. Regardless why, many toss and turn all night long, then get up the next morning feeling drugged...

In last week’s blog post, we addressed the subject of not talking about money as our parents taught us. To do so was considered gauche, could make many feel uncomfortable if they had less then you did and make you seem to boast even if you weren’t.   And often the topic precluded discussions about more pertinent information. But let’s face it folks, if the adage is true that money is the root of all evil, it’s also at the root of almost every conversation we have.   Sometimes it’s blatant and tasteless. Other times it’s subtle and slips in...

We both were raised in families by parents who said we should never talk about money except to our most intimate circle. It was gauche. That meant never sharing how much a house, remodeling, vacation or wedding cost, what kind of salary someone earned, what they might have inherited, even how much they paid for the shoes they were wearing. OK, maybe in special situations, we’d share about the shoes. Barbara had to tell several friends after she bought her revenge pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps after her former husband left her. And Margaret likes to boast about how inexpensive...