aging

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Mountain Time

I have just returned from the loveliest two-week trip: a drive through the Canadian Rockies with my husband, bracketed on either end by precious time with my parents in their mountain home. I feel a little jet-lagged, water-logged, flooded with the joy of a truly pleasurable vacation.

Let’s not bury the lede: I got to meet Nicole, in person. She is, unsurprisingly, gorgeous and warm and generous and kind. She and her husband showed us the most delightful time. We drank really good wine. We ate a dinner of quinoa, roasted veggies, and lentils that I am still thinking about, plus a kale salad with the best Caesar dressing, followed by a luscious lemony cake topped by homegrown raspberries. I got to meet REX, and give him pets and tell him to his face that he is the softest, handsomest boy. I got to chat with Nicole’s son, who is one of the most charming, attentive, interesting young people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, and he allowed me to hug him even though I am apparently of the age where I refer to twenty-somethings as “young people.” I got to ogle Nicole’s garden, and admire her prolific zucchini plants (she gave me three monstrous zucchini to take home; they were delicious). I did not take nearly enough pictures, or spend nearly enough time with Nicole. Our husbands are, obviously, fantastic, and I think next time we will allow them space to do their own thing so Nicole and I can cover all the extremely important topics we didn’t get to during our much-too-short time together.

An extremely distinguished gentleman.

Driving through British Columbia and Alberta with my husband was magical. Spending time together, just the two of us: It feels both simplistic and true to say that I enjoy his company. We travel well together. He’s a thoughtful and careful planner, and I like to think I’m an agreeable and supportive companion.

We listened to a podcast recommended by Engie, DNFed one audiobook and got a good chunk of the way through another. We giggled over Canada’s road signage (it seemed to us that things like “no services 110 km” would be more helpful before we’d passed the last town for 110 km) and wished that all US highways would follow Canada’s lead with the number of passing lanes they include. We stared in awe at the landscape and pulled over many, many times to try to capture the jaw-dropping beauty of the mountains and turquoise lakes with our phones. We ate tons of delicious food (my favorite, next to Nicole’s home cooking, was a meal of birria tacos in Banff) and did lots of sightseeing.

We visited multiple local bookstores, and my husband encouraged me to buy some souvenirs. (I also bought a really excellent book for a friend and had the author sign it.)

We encountered a lot of wildfire smoke. Sometimes it obscured almost everything.

Sometimes it leant an ethereal magic to our views.

Sometimes it disappeared at just the right moment for us to experience the pristine splendor of the landscape.

We didn’t see any wildlife at all, beyond a few birds and mammals that we can see in our own backyard, thank you very much.

Speaking of wildlife, we did admire our cat, via the cat cam. He spent a lot of time sitting glumly on the counter, waiting for someone (me?) to come tell him to get off. He also spent one morning exploring my mother-in-law’s set up for making hot fudge. He went so far as to get in the pot, which is horrifying and hilarious in equal measure. (Don’t worry: we did let her know that her hot fudge vessel had been contaminated before she started cooking.) I love that he looks directly at the cat cam. He knows (I fully believe) that he’s doing something we would not approve of, and he knows that we know what he’s doing, and he wants us to know that he knows we know, and he’s doing it anyway.

We had a wonderful time together, and loved the parts of Canada we saw. I hope someday soon we can explore other provinces… and perhaps visit Allison and Elisabeth in their corners of their stunning country.

Even though it’s a place I visit regularly (although nowhere near often enough), my parents’ mountain home is no less stunning or special.

Spending time with my parents feels both mundane and precious. We do things we’ve been doing for decades – walk the same mile-long forest loop, brave the black cold of the same lake, sit on the deck listening to hundred-year-old aspen gossip in the breeze – while knowing there will be a last time for each of these experiences.

Being among the mountains makes me feel small and insignificant and acutely aware of the vastness of time and the ephemeral nature of our lives.

I’m an introspective kind of gal, as you are well aware, and I spent a lot of this trip thinking about time. The mountains wrap me in a paradoxical kind of time warp, where I feel both the speed of time passing by and a simultaneous timelessness.

My parents are aging, I cannot deny that. In fact, several of our conversations this trip centered around estate planning, on things my husband and I need to know when their mountain home becomes ours. My daughter is now a teenager, nearly my height, about to begin eighth grade. My husband and I are solidly, undeniably middle-aged.

And yet: everything is the same as it’s always been.  

Even though the individual aspen that make up the skyline around my parents’ house have been around for a mere century, their underground root systems are thousands of years old. The peaks I admire as my dad guides our thirty-year-old boat around the lake were thrust into being fifty million years ago. Glaciers and water and tectonic shifts have sculpted the mountains and valleys into their current form over the intervening millennia. It is astonishing to me that I can admire the artistry of forces so enormous I can hardly conceptualize them, that I am alive for this eyeblink of a moment, that I can choose to spend my time with the people I love most while surrounded by such extraordinary beauty.

I am bobbing, breathless, in the same lake I’ve been swimming in since I was a little girl, the same lake my father visited as a boy, and his father before him. My daughter, shrieking, leaping into the bracing deep beside me, simultaneously thirteen and five and two and ages I have yet to experience. Around us, a crenellation of stately serene peaks that have stood sentry over each of us in turn, in a valley that was once itself a massive inland sea.

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Five for Friday

1. For the month of September, I have been waking up at 5:41 and getting out of bed at 6:00. This past week, I’ve been pushing it back a teeny bit; my alarm goes off at 5:21 and I get out of bed at 5:45. The cat has been extremely accommodating in terms of hopping into bed and purring loudly at me at about 4:20. My question is, how freaking early do I need to get up to be able to DO things? 

    Things I’d like to do: Lie in bed for 15 minutes to do the Wordle and Connections and possibly read a blog or two. Make some tea. Take care of the cat. Unload the dishwasher. Write a blog post. Spend 10 minutes watching cat videos with Carla. Get dressed. Eat something. Get out the door on time (7:15). In an ideal world, I would also be able to exercise and shower before we leave for school, but that seems much too ambitious. It’s still something I’d LIKE to do, though.

    Things I have been able to do: Lie in bed to do my word games. Make tea. Take care of the cat. Spend 5-10 minutes watching cat videos with Carla. Get dressed. Eat something (sometimes). We haven’t been out the door on time since the first week of school. Admittedly, this isn’t always my issue. But lately I have been scrambling to be moderately presentable and still be 15 minutes late. 

    Possibly I can squeak back my out-of-bed time to 5:00; but even then, I don’t know if I’d be able to get in a blog post. Definitely not exercise, too. If you exercise before work or school, HOW????

    One of the reasons I want to work exercise into my morning routine is because it’s often the first thing I jettison if the day doesn’t proceed as planned. For the past two days, I didn’t exercise as planned because my days got thrown out of whack. It’s not the end of the world, or anything; I don’t set exercise goals, so I can’t fail, take that perfectionism – and I did at least manage a decent walk on Wednesday – but it’s frustrating when I’m trying to prioritise exercise for my mental, physical, and future health. (The British/Canadian spelling was accidental but I’m keeping it. I think Ses are much prettier than Zs.) Plus, “exercise” is a catch-all term that includes showering, putting on clothing an actual reasonable person might wear, and possibly even doing my hair and/or makeup. Even if I do a shorter workout, and even if I take a ten-minute shower, and even if I throw my wet hair up in a claw clip instead of drying it, the Exercise Plus Shower Plus Getting Ready routine takes about an hour. I have no earthly idea where I’d get a whole extra hour in the morning. I can’t go to bed earlier than nine; Carla’s bedtime is 8:30 and I read to her for thirty minutes. And if I went to bed promptly at nine, I would never see my husband, which is an unacceptable tradeoff for exercise. Listen, I know I don’t really have anything to complain about here. My schedule is very flexible, for the most part. I guess I just keep on working in a workout where I can, sometimes sacrificing it to the whims of life.

    2. I had a baking success and a baking flop this week. The flop was the apple honey cake I made in a nod to Rosh Hashanah. It looked lovely – although I had expected the apple-covered portion to be much darker and more caramelized; not sure why, the photo on the recipe page is not dark and caramelized – and it was fine. But it wasn’t my favorite. The crumb was too big; I think it compares in crumb size, if not exact texture, to cornbread (although my husband disagrees). And the cake had, to my tongue, no flavor. Also, the apples weren’t caramelized enough. The other thing I baked were brownies. Since I was making them for a loved one who’d just had surgery, and since this person is trying to avoid excess sugar and carbs, I decided to try a sugar-free (ish), flourless brownie. The brownies are flavored with dark chocolate, dates, and vanilla, and get their fluffiness from eggs and baking soda. I was skeptical, since I really am not a fan of dates. But they turned out SO well. They are fluffy and soft, rich and chocolatey, and perfectly satisfying. The only real difference I noted between these brownies and “regular brownies” is that they have a slight coconutty flavor (because they are made with coconut oil). Carla loved them; the person I intended them for loved them; I loved them. My husband’s reaction was “these are weird.” Next time, I might try them with butter instead of coconut oil, although I didn’t mind the coconut essence. I am definitely making them again. I like how I didn’t have to chop up the dates; I just let my food processor do all the work. 

    3. After your extremely helpful comments last week, Carla and I (and the cat) tackled her bedroom on Tuesday. We got rid of so much stuff. My strategy was to tell her that I would clean her room for her, she just had to tell me what to do. She had complete control over what stayed and what went into the donation pile (or the trash). I was so ready to get a handle on the mess that I only faltered once, when I saw a beautiful sweater I bought her just last year in the donation bag. But she’s the one who has to wear the clothes. If she’s not going to wear it, it shouldn’t be in her closet. We also got rid of tons of old socks and underthings that are way too small, and I placed a big order for replacements. Even though I said I would do all the work, Carla ended up doing a ton of stuff herself. She organized all her dresser drawers, for instance. AND she did all of her own laundry. She even said it was fun. While I don’t expect that will last, I feel so much relief that her laundry is now HER problem. Her clothing selection is much more manageable and her room looks so much better. 

    Oh hello there, you can’t seriously think this drawer would be better suited to T-shirts, can you?

    4. This weekend, a friend I haven’t seen for years is bringing her daughters to stay with us. I am so excited to see her! And her children, whom I anticipate I will hardly recognize, it’s been so long. One thing I’m trying very hard to do is to resist the little voice in my head that keeps saying, “She’s going to think you got so fat.” My friend, though it should not matter in the least except in terms of the pride I feel for her, is a tiny person to begin with. But she’s also extremely fit – like, she literally has two World records in the fitness arena. My little inner voice, which apparently ignores what a nice and non-judgy person my friend is, thinks she will judge me for being large and soft. 

    Here are my coping thoughts: When I went to my twentieth college reunion a few years ago, I was shocked by how OLD some of my classmates seemed. Some of them were balding, or had grey hair, or looked like – gasp! – middle-aged moms. It was especially shocking to see these aging people next to my dear friends, who looked exactly the same as they’d looked twenty years before. Obviously, it wasn’t that my close friends remained unchanged while people I didn’t know well had aged poorly. It was that my love imbued the people dear to me with youth and beauty that transcends time. I experienced this phenomenon more recently, when I got to see a college friend perform with his college band. The bar was packed with a bunch of half-drunk middle-aged farts. But my friend and his band were exactly as they were back in college. Love is transformative in so many ways, and I think it can allow you to see your people in their best light. The way I look at my husband, a distinguished, respected physician who brings hope and relief to so many patients, and see only the cute charming finance major I met nearly a quarter century ago. Anyway, I am trying with all my heart to believe that my fit friend is going to arrive and see past my frumpy, overweight, perimenopausal self to her dear friend of many years.

    5. I have two recent purchases to recommend. One is a fidget toy. Carla apparently saw that a classmate had one, and she wanted one, too. So I caved and got it for her. It’s not silent, per se, but it’s very quiet – just makes a soft shuck when it changes shape. And it is very cool; the shape shifting is mesmerizing. Even the cat likes it. Speaking of the cat, we bought him yet another cat toy. (The poor cat is once again hiding under the bed; it’s been a traumatic week, and he does not do well with loud sounds. This time, the loud sound was me putting ice cubes in the dryer to de-wrinkle my duvet cover. He has never scratched me before, but I have three large gashes to commemorate this particular trauma.) Anyway: this toy is perfect for him. It has a little butterfly dangler on the top, it has a couple of balls on a track that he can push around, and it has a little fringey thing who pokes his fringey face out of hidey holes at random around the circumference of the base. This toy is electronic (uses batteries or a charger) and it has several settings. With one, just the fringey guy hides and appears. Another setting turns the butterfly dangler on, so that it spins, stops, and spins the opposite way. Another setting has both things happen either at once or one after another, I haven’t figured it out yet. It will turn itself off after a few minutes if the cat ignores it for awhile, and then it turns back on as soon as he touches it. Leo LOVES this thing. I put it up on top of a cabinet when he’s not using it (so he doesn’t get bored with it – cats get bored so easily) and he will walk over to the cabinet and look longingly at it and meow until I fetch it down for him. 

    Keeping this butterfly thing AND the little fringey guy in line is a very serious endeavor.
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    Routine Doctors Appointments

    Why have my insurance plan and my annual schedule conspired to make January the month when I have All the Appointments? I was trying to make plans to write with a writing friend and I looked at the calendar and it is PACKED. I feel like January is nearly over and it has only just begun. 

    One of my upcoming appointments is with my OB/GYN, and I have been steeling myself to insist a little more forcefully that I believe I am in perimenopause. You will likely not recall that last year, my tentative questions about it were dismissed due to my age. The array of symptoms that seem to be perimenopause-related continues to grow, so I just want to confirm that a) yes, this is happening and b) there is nothing I can really DO about any of it, beyond what I am already doing. (TMI note: I take oral contraceptives which both prevent a period, so I don’t have that to clue me in as to actual menopause, and, according to the OB/GYN, oral contraceptives are supposedly the first line of defense against perimenopause symptoms anyway.) I had also been steeling myself to ask for a physical exam this year, should it be bewilderingly optional as it was last year, but I am pleased I am relieved I see from last year’s post that I should expect a pap test this year so that shouldn’t be an issue.

    The other upcoming appointment is with a new-to-me internist. I have been mildly fretting about the appointment for, oh, several months now. I am eager to have a primary care physician again; my last PCP, whom I adored, prescribed me a new medication two Decembers ago, then went on leave until March, then left her practice to become a concierge physician. I love her enough that I strongly considered following her to her new practice, but I did not. Anyway, I have ostensibly been without a PCP since December of 2023. The old practice has been kindly refilling my prescription all this time, but I will be relieved to have a regular doctor again. (Yes, it has taken me since approximately March of 2024 to get in to see a new physician. This is both because I wanted a doctor whose office is closer to where I live now and because I wanted the specific provider my husband recommended.)

    The thing I am fretting about is that this appointment is about establishing me as a patient… but I also have A List of things to discuss with the doctor. So I am worrying both about coming across as someone the new doc wants to have as a patient… and about addressing my concerns. 

    Is the first fret ridiculous? Yes, yes it is. I can acknowledge that without being able to eliminate it from my worry database. I am sure this doctor sees a thousand middle-aged women just like me; I am not going to be any more or less desirable as a patient. Plus, physician’s job is to deal with the patient in front of them, not reject them based on some sort of Simon Cowellian checklist. (Is Simon Cowell still a contemporary reference?) And in any case, physicians treat patients all the time that they might not otherwise hang out with or befriend; we do not need to be besties. 

    STILL. I want to make a good first impression. That’s weird, right? And yet, there it is. 

    Let’s move on to the less-ridiculous portion of my frets, which is how to address all the things I want to address without overwhelming the doctor or myself, and without doing that thing where I make a careful list and then get to item three and suddenly feel like I’m overstaying my welcome or talking too much or whatever. I cannot tell you how many times I have gone to see a doctor with Very Specific Things To Discuss, and have decided in the moment that they are silly and I won’t bother the doctor with them. Even when I bring a written list with me, I still do this. 

    (You might think that having grown up with a physician for a parent, and then marrying a physician would negate some of the awkwardness I feel when at the doctor. But no.) 

    Since three seems to be the magic number, I think I have narrowed my Must Discuss List to three topics: 

    1. Fatigue. I am tired all the time. Like, more tired than in years past. (I feel like I’ve been chronically tired since at least 2012.) So tired that I see the effects of the tiredness in other areas of my life. Is this… The result of a medication I’m taking? A symptom of perimenopause? A deficiency of iron or vitamin D or something else? Because I am terrible at sleeping? Subset of the previous: it is because of my horrifically restless legs? Is the terrible sleeping a result of poor sleep hygiene? Or perimenopause? Or some lifestyle choice I am making? Is the tiredness (and/or terrible sleeping and/or restless legs) fixable? Or is this just my current phase of life (The Tired Phase) and I need to accept and lean into it? 
    2. Medication. I started taking anxiety medication in December 2023 after a series of escalating panic attacks. The medication has been very helpful. I think I am in a less anxious state now than I was then; is it time to try to discontinue the medication? If so, how do I do that? And what happens if I decide it was a terrible plan to discontinue it? Yes, 2023 was a wildly exciting and action-packed year which ended spiking my anxiety to new heights, but it’s not like I was NOT anxious before that. I am not opposed to taking medication when it is helpful, but I also don’t really want to take medication if I don’t need to.
    3. Weight. Due to some fairly significant weight gain over the past year, I am heavier than I have ever been in my life. Aside from not being pleasant in a variety of ways for a variety of reasons, I am wondering if I need to Be Worried. Is my weight gain a side effect of the aforementioned anxiety medication? A symptom of perimenopause? The result of too many nachos? Something else? Is it causing any problems I should be aware of, aside from the expected and unwelcome not-fitting-into-my-clothing and poor-self-esteem issues? (Like perhaps my extreme tiredness?) Beyond trying to eat less and move my body more, is there anything I should be doing?

    You may notice that this very tidy list of three contains many, many subtopics. That feels a little like cheating. (I imagine myself telling the new doctor, “I want to discuss three health concerns with you!” and then bombarding her with restless legs! and perimenopause symptoms! and anxiety! and insomnia! as she crumples to the floor under the weight of my hypochondria.) (Yes, I do realize this is not how doctors work.)

    You may also notice that “weight” is at the bottom of the list, in case three topics ends up feeling like too many topics with which to burden the doctor. (I know; I cannot stop thinking this way.) I put it at the bottom because it is the topic that, to me, seems to have the most obvious solution (eat less and move your body more), and also because it is the topic that I feel least comfortable bringing up. It’s such an uncomfortable topic! And possibly the doctor will bring it up anyway, without me having to say anything. 

    I have a new, third fret: that I will inadvertently turn my New Patient Appointment into a Sick Visit. Why yes, this fret IS brought to you by two weeks of my family being sick plus waking up at four o’clock this morning with a terrible headache and a sore throat that feels worse than yesterday’s mildly scratchy throat and ear pain and a low-grade fever. 

    What happens if I AM sick for my appointment? Is that… allowed? I feel like the “rules,” insofar as I (don’t) understand them are that you can’t be treated by a new physician until you have established with them as a patient. This is why I have been scrupulously healthy this year, because I would much rather go see my PCP than visit urgent care. 

    If I AM sick for my appointment, then identifying/treating that illness probably jumps to the top of my list of concerns… but can I also address the other less-urgent topics?

    Should I perhaps be badgering my husband with these questions instead of fretting about them on the internet? I mean, yes, but what is the internet for if not for airing ridiculous worries.