The Real Treasures

I was watching a news interview with a political expert.

Behind him were shelves lined with the books he had written. Row after row of them. Impressive.

Then I noticed something. Tucked into the corner of one of those impressive bookshelves were two plastic cups holding colorful paper flowers. 

You know the kind. The flowers children make in preschool out of construction paper, glue, and enormous amounts of love. The kind that proudly arrive home with stems that bend in impossible directions and petals that don't quite match.

I laughed. Of all the things he could have displayed behind him - awards, trophies, expensive artwork - there sat two plastic cups with paper flowers. And suddenly, those flowers became the most important things on the shelf.

Then I smiled, because I realized... I do the exact same thing.

Every Friday, I set my Shabbat table with my finest china and our sterling silver Kiddush cups. I put beautiful fresh flowers in the center - the kind you'd photograph for a magazine.

And right beside them, holding their own place of honor, are little paper flowers made by my grandchildren.

They do not match the china.
They do not match the silver.
They are not perfectly straight.

One might lean a little to the side. Another might have a petal that looks like it got into an argument with the scissors. I love them.

Nobody told my grandchildren that their flowers had to compete with the "important" things on the table. They just showed up. And I made room.

MY DIAMONDS

Maybe that is one of the gifts of getting older. We begin to understand that beauty does not always come in the form we expect.

Sometimes it comes in a little white jewelry box sitting next to the Shabbat candles.

My diamonds.

Well...not the kind you buy in a jewelry store.

Inside are dozens of rubber band bracelets, colorful plastic necklaces, and beaded creations lovingly made by my grandchildren.

Every one arrived with great ceremony. "Savta! I made this for you!" 

As far as they were concerned, they had just handed me the Crown Jewels. And I received them exactly that way.

I wear them. Not all at once. (I'm a grandmother, not a Christmas tree.)

I rotate them, because each one reminds me of the little hands that strung the beads, chose the colors, and waited for my reaction.

The funny thing is that I often wear them alongside real gold bracelets. If someone asked which bracelet is worth more, the jeweler and I might give different answers. 

Gold has value because it is rare. A rubber bracelet has value because one little person made it while thinking: "Savta will love this."

That's rarer.

Maybe that is what happens as we grow older. We stop measuring our wealth by what shines. We start measuring it by what holds love.

A chipped mug from a parent.
A faded photograph.
A paper flower.
A rubber bracelet.

To anyone else, they may just be things taking up space.

But to us... They hold voices.
They hold tiny hands.
They hold moments we never want to forget.
They are the real treasures.

Savta’s Graduation

This year, five of my grandchildren are graduating. B"H. Mazel tov. Two from high school and three from elementary school.

Naturally, everyone is focused on the graduates. There will be ceremonies, speeches, photographs, hugs, and enough cake to feed a small country — assuming, of course, you made the guest list.

(A topic for another essay: graduation tickets are apparently rationed like milk during the war. Three tickets, five tickets, never quite enough to go around. And somehow it’s always the grandparents who quietly volunteer to sit this one out. Which is fair, really. We had our turn. We sat through our own children’s graduations, performances, and several questionable haircuts in between. Let the siblings have the seats. Let them be the ones who get to stare at their brother or sister crossing that stage and think, that’s going to be me someday. We’ll be home, holding down the fort and the apple chips, perfectly content.)

I’M GRADUATING TOO

But I feel like I’m graduating too.

The high schoolers are deep in conversations about careers, national service, learning — all very serious, very adult, very forward-looking. They are gazing into the future.

I, meanwhile, am gazing into the past. Not sadly. Just with a sort of stunned “wait, when did this happen?” squint.

These are the same children who once sat on my couch eating snacks and playing board games. The same children who begged for just one more story. The same children who considered an afternoon with Savta the single greatest entertainment option available to mankind. Now they have friends. Plans. Phones. Lives.

Apparently, I am no longer the center of the social universe. I would like to formally note that I was not consulted about this decision. I assume there was a meeting.

The elementary school graduates are not much better. They’ve entered that mysterious in-between age - practicing for high school the way understudies practice for a part they haven’t been cast in yet.

Suddenly they are very busy. Very cool. Very above it all.

Rummikub with Savta now loses to hanging out with friends. A kiss in public has become a diplomatic incident requiring advance written notice. And being “shmooshed” - once a privilege, like a royal title - has been quietly revoked, no explanation given.

The children are graduating from childhood. And I am graduating from being the grandmother of little children.

BECOMING SOMEONE NEW

At first this made me sad. Then I realized something: every stage of grandparenting requires us to become somebody new. (Nobody warns you about this. There should be a pamphlet.)

First we are grandparents of babies. Then of toddlers. Then come the playgrounds, the storybooks, the sleepovers, the game nights, and the truly heroic quantities of nosh.

And then, before we’re quite ready, the job changes.

Perhaps it means fewer board games and more coffee dates. Fewer bedtime stories and more real conversations. Fewer hugs in public, more texts that simply say, “Hi.”

(In their language, that’s a big deal. It means they paused, mid-conversation, while sitting on the steps with friends laughing at who knows what, to think of me for one second. That one second means more than they could possibly know.)

Well, I’m still figuring it out. But then again, so are they. Which is a comforting thought.

GROWING UP AT EVERY AGE

Maybe growing up isn’t something that only happens to children. Maybe grandparents have to keep growing too - finding new ways to love people who no longer fit in our laps, but who will always fit in our hearts.

The good news is that I still have a few little ones around who think the couch, the swing, and the park are their happy place. So, I haven't been entirely retired. 

I’ve simply been promoted to the next stage - a stage I didn’t apply for, but am apparently very qualified for, having already survived several stages with their parents.

Because really, what greater blessing is there than watching the children you love become exactly who they were always meant to be?  

I may miss the little hands, the bedtime stories, the days when visiting Savta was a special occasion. But I would not trade the joy of watching them grow - not even for one more uninterrupted hour of “Ticket to Ride”, and not even for a graduation ticket.

So mazal tov, my dear graduates. You are beginning a new chapter. And it seems Savta is too. We’ll learn this one together.

The Witch of the World

For twenty-three years, I have been the most wonderful grandmother in the world. At least in my own mind.

I was the fun grandmother. The generous grandmother. The exciting grandmother. Every visit sparkled. Every outing was an adventure. Every grandchild was brilliant, adorable, hilarious, and perfect. Anything they wanted was granted. The sun rose and set on them.

Then came this past week.

Their parents went away, and suddenly I wasn't the visiting grandmother anymore. I was the one in charge. And let me tell you something. The transformation was not pretty.

A few months ago, I played the Witch of Ein Dor on stage in the musical David. This week I became the Witch of the World … and I wasn't acting.

"Don't hit him."
"Get back into bed."
"Finish your dinner."
"No, you cannot watch that."
"You took it. Eat it."

THE GRANOLA BAR AFFAIR

Take, for example, the Granola Bar Affair. "Can I have a granola bar?" "I don't think you'll like it." "Yes!! I will!" "If you take it, you have to eat it." "I want it!"

He took it. He tasted it. His face did something I have previously only seen on people taking medicine. "You took it. You eat it."

That granola bar sat on the table. For two days. A monument to poor decision-making. Every time he walked past it, I reminded him: when you choose something, you eat it.

By the second day, even I was tired of looking at it. "Okay," I said. "If you really don't like it, let's throw it out. But what's our lesson here?" "Don't take something you won't eat." "Exactly."

WHERE IS SUPER SAVTA?

Every night I went to sleep wondering what had happened to Super Savta. Where was the woman who bought ice pops and read stories and played endless games? Who was this cranky person who seemed to spend the entire day enforcing rules?

Then last night I figured it out.

For one week, I wasn't really a grandmother. I was a mother-substitute. The fun grandmother's job is simple: spoil, spoil, spoil. She gets to arrive with treats, hugs, and stories. The mother-substitute has a different job description:
Keep them safe.
Keep them fed.
Keep them clean.
Keep them healthy until their parents come home.

Somewhere during the week, I remembered that I used to be a pretty strict mother. Apparently those skills were not lost. They had simply been dormant for a few decades.

AND SHE’S BACK

Fortunately, on Shabbat with my grandchildren's help, I regained some of my Savta Mojo. We played. We lost. We won. We laughed. We read books. That felt much more familiar.

And then, just to keep things interesting, came the Donkey Saga.

I was hit with an unexpected "situation." My grandson had apparently bought a donkey - or he thought he bought a donkey or maybe he only bid on a donkey, nobody was entirely sure - and he had spent the whole day worrying that it would be delivered to the farm near his school while he wasn't there to greet it.

I could have said, "I am not chasing a possible donkey that we don’t even know is yours. Let's just go home." And honestly, that would have been a reasonable thing to say. But he was so nervous and so excited, I couldn't let him down.

So when we left my house and went back to his town today, before we even checked on his actual, currently-living-with-us dog, we drove to the farm to see if the donkey had arrived.

It hadn't. And we stood there, the two of us, looking at an empty patch of farm where a possible-donkey was not. He was disappointed, but at that moment, he knew I wanted to come through for him.

Still, I worried that the grandchildren would remember me as Strict Savta, the Witch of the World, the one who said:
"You cannot lick it and put it back."
"Do not leave your bed."
"I'm not telling you again."

WHAT DID YOU LEARN?

So I decided to ask them a question. "What did you learn this week with Savta?" I expected silence. Instead, I got four answers.
"Only take what you will eat."
"Do not fight."
"Sleep is important."
"Clean up after yourself."

And just like that, I realized something. The children had not spent the week listening to my nagging. They had spent the week learning lessons. Simple lessons, perhaps. But not bad ones.

In fact, if every adult in the world followed those four rules, life would probably run much more smoothly.

So maybe Super Savta didn't disappear after all. Maybe she was simply wearing a disguise. For one week, she served as Acting Minister of Nutrition, Laundry, Conflict Resolution, and Bedtime Enforcement. And according to the children, who are as always brilliant, adorable, hilarious, and perfect, she did a pretty good job.

The truth is that love does not always look like ice cream and adventures. Sometimes it looks like, "No, you may not lick it and put it back."

And that counts too.

 

THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

For centuries, mankind has searched for the Fountain of Youth.

Explorers braved stormy seas to find its source. Alchemists searched for magical formulas. Scientists studied ageless villagers in far-off mountains. Entire industries have been built around miraculous creams, vitamins, and exercise machines. Everyone searching for the same thing - a way to stay young.

Well, search no further.

We have uncovered the solution to the world's greatest mystery. My husband made his discovery on a preschool class minibus, and I made mine in a rocking chair with the quiet snore of my two-year-old grandbaby.

THE CLASS TRIP

My husband, "Sabba" to the kids, volunteered to be a parent on the preschool class trip. The night before the expedition, our kitchen table looked like a staging area for an African safari - a borrowed baseball cap, sunglasses, sunscreen, a water bottle, a bag lunch, and a handwritten list of instructions, which Sabba studied very, very carefully.

The next morning, he climbed aboard a preschool minibus wearing his white shirt, black cargo pants, and electric blue sneakers, and joined a crowd of squealing four-year-olds heading out for adventure. He high-fived our grandson, laughed at the antics of his friends, stopped a few potential fights, and had a grand time.

Sabba reported that the highlight of the trip was an animal show, which featured, among other things, a giant snake that was draped enthusiastically over the shrieking children like a very large, very slimy scarf. Sabba came home and said, simply: "There was a snake." I did not ask follow-up questions.

SWINGING AND ROCKING

I, on the other hand, picked up our two-year-old granddaughter from pre-preschool. When I arrived, a teeny pair of pink socks was hanging on her hat hook. They were not hers. She was certain they were. She insisted I put them on immediately, right there in the hallway. I did. Somewhere, a little girl is going home sockless. I hope her mother doesn't flip.

We went to the park, ate ices on a bench, and headed to the swings. She wouldn't accept any help climbing onto the swing. She is two. She slipped off four times. On the fifth try she made it, and looked at me with the triumphant expression of someone who has just conquered Everest. I cheered like she had.

Then we went back home to rest. I rocked her in my arms as her head nodded back and forth, and I hummed the melody I had hummed to her mother thirty years ago - a melody I thought I had forgotten - until she fell asleep in my lap.

And I realized something.

DISCOVERING THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

The Fountain of Youth isn't about looking young. It's about participating in the world of the young.

Grandparents who are involved with their grandchildren have a second chance at life. You think you're finished with preschool trips. Then suddenly you're on one. You think your days of discussing snacks, playgrounds, missing socks, and who gets to sit by the window are long behind you. Then grandchildren arrive and hand you a fresh ticket.

As Sabba called out to the kids on the jumping castles, "No pushing. One at a time!", he was suddenly forty-five again, calling out to our own boys as they over-enthusiastically bounded through the jumping castles of our kingdom long ago. The children ignored him completely, just as our boys did thirty years ago. Some things are eternal.

As my two-year-old gently snored in my arms, her warm breath on my cheek, I was in my thirties again, holding her mother - the same blonde curls gently bobbing, the same angelic look on her sleeping face.

THE TREASURE IN OUR REACH

The Fountain of Youth isn't a fairy tale or an impossible treasure. It is right there - as we eat lunch with messy four-year-olds, or try to push a toddler on a swing.

Access to the Fountain is granted when you take the hand of your grandchild, sit him on your lap for a story, or look up at the birds together. When you enter your grandchild's world, your knees may still be achy, but somehow time rewinds to those days, decades ago when you couldn't imagine that your little darlings would soon have little darlings of their own.

Perhaps that is why the explorers never found the Fountain of Youth. They were looking in the wrong places. They searched in hidden valleys and distant mountains. They should have looked in preschools, and beside sandboxes.

They should have looked on a class bus filled with four-year-olds wearing sun hats and carrying sticky juice boxes, or beside a rocking chair where a grandmother is humming an old lullaby to her grandchild. They should have looked for a man in electric blue sneakers refereeing a jumping castle, or a grandmother chasing her grandbaby around the park.

Because that is where time folds in on itself. That is where yesterday and today sit side by side. That is where a seventy-year-old man becomes a young father again for an afternoon, and a white-haired grandmother closes her eyes and remembers when her face was smooth and her hair was still blonde.

Looking into the eyes of our grandchildren, we realize that the years did not take away the sweetest parts of life. In fact, they may have made them even sweeter.

They simply brought them back wearing smaller shoes.

Performing at the Jerusalem Theatre… with the Beginners

Last week, B"H, I had the thrill once again of performing on stage at the Jerusalem Theatre. Bright lights. Applause. Adrenaline.

And yet, I wasn't dancing in a dazzling sequence costume with my steel-shuffling troupe. I was performing with the beginner tap group.

No… I did not accidentally wander into the wrong dance number or forget where I was supposed to be!

FINDING A NEW ROLE

I have been tap dancing for twenty years.

Twenty years.

At this point in life, I should probably be teaching the beginners. Instead, I joined them.

Not because I stopped “real” dancing or lost the place I had earned in our kick line. And definitely not because I stopped loving it. But because my ankle and knee recently decided they were no longer interested in jumping high or f-lapping faster than a speeding bullet. Apparently, my joints have been holding meetings without me, and decided: “Effective immediately: reduce high-impact commitments.”

So I adapted.

That's how I found myself in beginners’ tap, relearning steps I once knew in my sleep.

At first, it felt strange. Who willingly goes backwards? But you know what? Beginners don’t agonize about what they used to be able to do. They simply try to do it now. And that’s surprisingly peaceful.

TWO TAP LIVES

Now, I haven’t left my veteran tap class. I’m still there too. Every week. Standing beside dancers who sometimes perform steps that my arthritic ankle and knee look at with deep suspicion.

So I’ve become something of a choreographer for one. When a routine asks for a step my joints politely refuse, I don’t leave the line, I adjust. I simplify. I substitute. I improvise. And you know what, everyone still smiles and loves me.

It’s not always easy, and occasionally I suspect my body and I are performing two slightly different dances to the same music. But I stay in the room. And that matters more to me than anything else, because I love my troupe and I want to dance with them as long as I can.

So my week now has two tap lives:

In the veteran class, I stretch myself, adapt my steps, and try to stay part of something bigger and more complex than what I can comfortably do alone. In the beginner class, I relearn, rebuild, and remind myself that joy doesn’t require expertise. Between the two, I keep dancing.

ON STAGE

And then something unexpected happened. We performed at the Jerusalem Theatre. Yes. The beginners’ troupe. There I stood under stage lights, feeling exactly the same thrill I have felt for years at every stage of dance.

The stage, it turns out, doesn’t care what your level is. It only cares that you give your all and shine out   your personal aura. And the audience doesn’t come to measure technical perfection. It comes to feel your love and enthusiasm, your willingness to share your gift across the footlights.

LIFE IS MULTI-DIRECTIONAL

Many of us believe that life moves in one direction only: Forward ..to.. better ..to.. more advanced ..to.. more capable.

But then, one day life quietly introduces a different curriculum: Oy vey, so... adapt ..and.. simplify ..and.. begin again.

At seventy, I’m learning that “beginner” is not a downgrade. It’s a skill. A state of mind. Really... a privilege.

There is something deeply honest about the beginners’ class. No pretending. No hiding. No comparison to who you used to be. Just: Can I do this step today? And if not, can I do a version of it that still lets me dance?

So, here I am tapping in two worlds, and I’ve discovered something important: I am still a dancer.

Not because I move the way I used to. But because I still move. And I still say yes to the stage.

Maybe that’s the real secret of this stage of life. You don’t stop performing when things change. You learn new ways to stay in the dance.

And if that means being a beginner at seventy … then I’ll take it. And tap on.

She Hung Up Her Tap Shoes. I’m Still Lacing Mine.

Last year, at 71, my friend Fayge hung up her tap shoes. 

Not dramatically. Not with a final Broadway bow.

Just quietly. After eighteen years of shuffle-ball-change, costume mishaps, and late-night laughter.

When we began dancing at 50 (me) and 52 (Fayge), we were on top of our game. (Yes, really.)

As the years went by, tap became more challenging, but we did our best with a determined smile. And there is a moment we often shared that I treasure most.

After a particularly difficult step - the kind that requires fierce concentration and silent prayer - when we somehow managed to execute it without collapsing into each other, Fayge and I would reach out and squeeze hands. No words. Just that squeeze.

We did it.

That squeeze said: We’re still here.
Still moving.
Still brave enough to try.

WOMEN OF STEEL

But tap is not simple at any age. It demands speed, precision, strong knees, cooperative ankles.

Now Fayge and I have none of those things.

Fayge was diagnosed with Parkinson’s years ago. Yet, she kept dancing. She kept showing up every Tuesday night with lipstick on and her tap shoes laced tight. But last season she decided that the turns and the quick movements – um, tap is mostly turns and quick movements - were asking more than her body could give.

So she chose to stop.

ALONE ON THE DANCE FLOOR

So, here I am. Seventy years old.
In a class of women ranging from 33 to 50 … and then… me.

I have arthritis in my ankle, which makes my shuffles occasionally slur in ways I’d rather not discuss, and hops live only in my mind. My knee, injured two years ago, still negotiates every fast combination. When the choreography calls for “quick and light,” I do my best to remember what that once felt like.

Still, Tuesday night tap is my happy place.

KEEPING MOVING

Fayge may have hung up her tap shoes, but she didn’t hang up her dance costumes. She still performs in “The Walker Dance,” a joyful piece filled with women over sixty who march and sway with more energy than orthopedists would advise. (We dance with walkers, but B"H, they're still props.) Fayge does yoga. She exercises. She shows up for life.

And she still belongs to our tap family.

She keeps in touch. She cheers us on. She lives in our inside jokes. Even without the shoes, she is part of the rhythm.

And me?

Fayge has officially made me the oldest tap dancer in Gush Etzion.

For now, I am choosing to stay. To shuffle imperfectly. To ice my ankle. To stand in a room full of younger women and claim my place anyway.

One day, I too may hang up my shoes.

But not yet.

For now, when the music starts and the floor answers back, I am still reaching for that invisible hand squeeze.

Still here.
Still moving.
Still dancing.

(Photos by our dear friends - Rebecca Kowalsky and Beth Lanin)

 

Twenty lessons to live a long and happy life. (Part 2)

When they look back on life, many folks would say that their grandparents had the biggest effect on the people they became. Unending love. Kneidlach. Funny stories. Great accents. Most everything about grandparents is colorful and worthy of remembering. Well, I recently spent a few weeks with an entire oasis of grandparents, and I too learned a lot about aging and not aging. In my last blog, I discussed 10 ways to live longer and happier lives. Here are another 10 things to consider (in no special order).

Trivia class.

11. Be interested. Every day we picked up a new packed activity schedule. Two of the activities – Trivia and Women’s Discussion Group have everyone chatting. It’s important to keep seniors interested in the world around them and in the conversation. As time does its job and they get around less, hear less, and see not so well, these discussion groups keep their world from shrinking, and keep older adults relevant.
“Today in 1901 the first Nobel Prizes were awarded.” Everyone had an opinion on who should have gotten one and who shouldn’t. “Today in 1830, Emily Dickinson was born. Can anyone remember one of her poems?” And I was flabbergasted to hear two of the men recite Emily Dickinson by heart. (I couldn’t remember anything. I’d better brush up on my poetry.) The Women’s Discussion Group chatted about varied random topics, exploring all kinds of horizons – life in Thailand, parenting today, and I even got to open a discussion on life in Israel.

Staying interested is staying in the game of life.

12 . Dress up. At my mother’s senior residence, her friends dress for dinner every night. Daytime is casual, as residents flit from one activity to the next. Evenings are special, and give everyone a boost, beginning with stylish clothing. Okay, no one wears orange leggings or crazy-youth-obsessed clothes, instead, they all look like they’re going on a cruise. I checked outside for a boat. None. You know the look. Fresh, classic, dignified, like the folks themselves.

Singing hit songs.

13. Sing. Sing out!! Mostly every day, a show or a solo performer takes the stage at my mother’s residence. The songs on the program range from 1920s hits (songs these great-grandparents and I heard from our own parents and grandparents) up to the latest Broadway fare. What a delight! I was in my element. Some folks sat quietly listening, but my mom and I sang along, every song.
Singing is great for seniors and all of us. It expands our memory, it makes us happier, reduces stress, and generally improves quality of life.
In addition to the shows, my mom’s pals like to sing whenever a phrase reminds them of a song. Usually I am the one to break out into a song at the drop of a hat. (I think my kids find it annoying. Tough.) Imagine being on the receiving end of an instant-song. “Thanks so much. That makes me so happy.” And then, three ladies simultaneously chime, “Make someone happy. Make just one someone happy.” Soooo cute.
14. Share your family. We’re in a family-scattered world. Kids, friends and siblings live everywhere from Maine to Mexico. So, when someone has company, everyone in the residence has company. Everyone enjoys stopping by to say, “Hi and where are you from, how long will you be here. Your daughter is beautiful.” And I got to schmooze comfortably with everybody, because they’re used to being friendly to visitors. Win win for all.

Yiddish fun.

15. Learn a new skill. Take up a new hobby. My mother (may she live and be well until 120) worked her entire life. She never had the time or the luxury to paint or even sit over a crossword puzzle. She definitely was not the type to make jewelry. Well, now, whenever she comes to visit, she gifts her children and grandchildren with beautiful Bubby-made colored necklaces and bracelets to match all their clothing. It’s not easy for my mom to use her fingers on these small beads, but she’s great at color coordinating and has become quite creative.
She also goes to a fun-tastic Yiddish class. My mother used to speak a mean Yiddish, but time made her a bit rusty. Now every week, she and her friends learn new fun Yiddish words and try to speak again – at least for an hour on Friday afternoons.
learning new skills and languages keep those brain gears going, plus it's exciting and empowering. What's next? Bring it on.
16. Taste the memories. Most of us cherish our mother’s pinwheel cookies or roast breast of veal in our hearts. The taste remains embedden in our memory banks forever. Every week my mother attends a cooking class where the “master chef” makes different dishes from long ago and today. I sat in on two cooking sessions. The first was devoted to New York City. The dessert, of course, was cheese cake. Deeelicious. Cooking class participants enjoyed every creamy morsel, as some remembered the last time they traveled to NYC, and commented on former mayors. They even sang, “New York, New York.” At another cooking class, souvganiyot donuts came out hot from the frying pan, and the chef said, “Get ready for our Chanukah delicacy. Does anyone remember a Chanukah song?” So, they munched and they sang, and they remembered.
17. Make friends. Be a friend. Moving to a new home is scary. Moving to a new home where 200 other people already live is even scarier. In my mother’s residence, the folks are so nice, I’m sure they help newbies fit right in. Friends are important at every age, and especially for seniors and super-especially when family is far away. Friends keep us young, really. They keep us going. They care about one another. “Why weren’t you at breakfast?” “You went to the beauty parlor? You look great.” “What did the doctor say?” “How are your kids?” Friends are our pillars, our teddy bears, our sounding boards. They keep us in better health, give us emotional support, share our joys and our challenges, and are fun to be with at every age.
18. Believe. Faith has so many forms. Recognizing the good in the world, reading the Bible, chatting with G-d, formal praying. As we face the challenges of life, faith keeps us going through dark times and gives us strength in times of weakness. Believing there’s more to Life than just 24/7 life is empowering, as faith gives us a helping hand, helps us face stress, anxiety and fear.
I attended local Sabbath services with my dearest mother (until 120). The congregation sang time-honored prayers, prayed for the health of their loved ones and the welfare of the nation, read from the Torah scroll and blessed the Sabbath with wine. Faith is invigorating, and if friendship is important to seniors, friendship with Our Creator is huge.
19. Change it up. Seniors in my mother’s residence have a daily and weekly routine, but they are encouraged not to get stuck in a rut. There’s a mini-bus to the Mall to go out into the world a bit. The dinner menu varies every night (although Thursday is always dairy with ice cream. Yes!). Even something as simple as changing a seat breaks their routine and keeps them fresh – sitting at a different table for breakfast or dinner, picking a different seat at a show or at a lecture. Keep life fresh until 120.
20. Become more than yourself. Truthfully, I had another eight things I learned hanging out with my new bubby buddies, but I’d like to stop here and add a thought of my own. As we get older and spend more time worrying about our own health and well-being, sometimes our focus becomes overwhelmingly self-self-self. There are so many amazing ways that seniors can go beyond themselves and make a bigger imprint. Many seniors are probably involved in the follow ideas already, but I wanted to end with a few simple notions.
Charity, of course, is an important aspect of life – helping worthy institutions, causes, projects. Every check makes a difference to a person/organization in need. Tutoring disadvantaged children - wouldn’t it be cool if a bus of inner-city kids was brought to a senior residence twice a month so that seniors could help the kids with their reading. Wrap gifts for children in the hospital or decorate cookies that could be sold at charity events. Knitters or crochet-ers could put their skills to use making caps for premie babies or woolen caps for soldiers. Mentoring young people starting out in the world - seniors have so much life experience/ business experience/ non-profit experience they can give over. Possibilities are endless. 
No one is too old to give of himself. Everything/anything we do for others can change the world for the better, and we're never too old to be a life changer and share of ourselves. Every positive deed we do leaves our mark, “I was here.”

Twenty lessons to live a long and happy life. (Part 1)

“By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea…”, this 1914 song is just as great today as it was back then, and so are its singers! I’ve just completed a fantastically positive extended stay in a senior citizens’ residence in Florida. True. I may not fit the average resident age of poo poo poo 95 yet, but they let me in just the same. Before I left my home, I wondered, what would I do all day? How could I relate to the octogenarians, nonagenarians, and centenarians with whom I’d be spending my time?

Well, thank G-d, I did great! Like everyone in the residence, I was busy from morning to night, and I spent quite a bit of time speaking to the terrific folks that lived there. I shmoozed in the gym, in the dining room and in the hallways. And we did fun activities together too.

I didn’t have connectivity in Florida (so more or less no internet [I survived]), and I didn’t waste my time. I soon noticed that these spectacular silver citizens had lots in common that may very well contribute to their longevity and laughter. I wrote down 20 DOs that I learned from the folks I met. Here are the first ten (in no particular order).

1. Eat blueberries. I’m putting this at the top of the list, because every day began with blueberries. Yes, ba ba ba baaaa super-blueberries! They’re filled with vitamins and fiber; they reduce cholesterol in the blood and decrease the risk of heart disease. They help improve memory!! They’re also yummm. And they are the object of every day’s conversation, “Do you know how much these cost in the store? Well, today….”

2. Smile a lot. No matter where we were in this Florida residence, everyone was smiling – the staff and the residents. I thought it must be something in the water, but I guess it began with a conscious effort to smile, and now everyone who walks through the sliding doors smiles. Even if they aren’t feeling tops, they smile at the moment. That encourages everyone who looks at them to smile too. And isn’t it a great feeling to walk around a place where folks looked so happy?

3. Own your age. I did not meet one person in the residence who was embarrassed about or hesitant to admit his/her age. In fact, they were proud of their age, and even prouder of their friends who had hit 101, 103 and 105. They looked at every year as a blessing.

4. Don’t/act your age. I never heard once during my stay in the senior residence, “I can’t go/do/participate because I’m old, or I’m __ (whatever age).” If an activity included lots of walking, so they walked less. If it including lots of listening, and they didn’t hear very well, so they did their best. I even spent one morning on the treadmill with a lady of 105 on the treadmill next to me. Okay, she walked at speed 2, but helllooo, she was walking on the treadmill. I wish that I and everyone reading would be able to walk on the treadmill at 105.

5. Greet everyone by name. I’m a friendly person and I can usually recognize familiar faces, but I’m bad with names. I better up my game. No matter where we went, the seniors and staff greeted every single person by their first name. Everyone’s name was important. Every person mattered. None of the staff were “the waitress” or “the desk clerk”. They were Melissa, Aggie, a name, a person who matters. And every resident was Helen, Audrey, Edith…What a great you-are-our-friend vibe!

6. Hug. Everyone there hugged all the time. On the way into dinner, into the shows, going into a car. Hug hug hug. The seniors hugged the waitresses, the residence’s administration, and the activity leaders. You could hardly walk out of a room without hugging someone. Now, I’m a big hugger, but they out-hugged me by miles. Who could be lonely, depressed or feel in a bad mood when you’re sharing hugs? I just found out that hugs strengthen the immune system, relax tension and even improve sleep quality. Besides all that, they feel great and spread love and caring. {{{xoxo}}}

7. Be pleasant. Unfortunately, seniors and anyone who lives life can suffer from many troubles – bad legs, bad hearing, high cholesterol, diabetes. There is no lack of tzores, but the majority of the seniors around me didn’t kvetch. Pleasant people really are happier, and they make those around them happier too. Grumpy Old Men may be a TV show (or maybe it’s a movie – I don’t get out much), but I noticed that at this senior residence, there was no atmosphere of nastiness or gripe, and very little self-pity. Acting pleasant then domino-ed to everyone around them.

8. Say yes/Say no. Who’s not tired after lunch? I know quite a number of countries whose residents take a siesta or afternoon break. But then, it’s time to jump/glide/ease back into action. My senior gang could have taken their naps and said, “We’ll just hang out until dinner,” but they said “yes” to playing rummy cub, canasta, mahjong, going to a class. Then again, no one can hulya morning, noon and night, so it’s wise to know your limits and say “no” sometimes. It will enable you to say “yes” when something special comes up.

9. Move. Moving around is an essential of life here.
Residents walk from their rooms to the elevator to the dining room to the theater. When they go on trips, they walk to the movies or in the mall. Mobility is critical for seniors – especially for the simple tasks of getting out of bed, heading to the bathroom, walking to the kitchen.  Mobility keeps you social and “in the game.” Speaking of mobility, I wrote that a lady of 105 was on the treadmill near mine. The speed she walked was not important, but the fact that she walked was amazing. Whenever the subject of mobility came up, the seniors said, “We’re going to keep moving around as long as we can!” May they succeed.

10. Look pretty, feel pretty. Look handsome, feel great. When I was younger Thursday was beauty parlor day. At the senior residence, any day that someone could get a lift to the beauty parlor made it “beauty parlor day”. Every day I was impressed that everyone B”H looked so great. Their hair was coiffed, their clothing clean and it was clear to see that everyone took pride in their appearances. The result - surely higher self-esteem, more interaction with their friends and an enhanced feeling of “I am dressed to take on the world.” You go, guys!

More to come.