Day 67: Resolution numero uno

I just counted up the days since my 59th birthday and came to realize I was a bit off in naming these posts. As of this one, I'm back on track.

About that resolution ...

I had my annual physical yesterday, and the cholesterol news was, um, pretty awful. In fact, it was the worst it's ever been. Note to self: Never again have my cholesterol level tested at Christmas time.

At least I don't have to come up with New Year's resolutions. It's pretty obvious what they should be: Eat smarter, exercise more and get my cholesterol levels down.

Luckily, I have no other risk factors -- at least none that seem to be of concern to my doctor. He's giving me six months to change my ways. I'll have more blood tests then, followed by a meeting with him.

I get the feeling this will be my last chance to avoid taking statins for the rest of my life.

Day 49: Christmas Eve 2009

On Christmas Eve we light all the candles -- the ones in the Advent wreath, the ones in the sconces on the living room wall, the green one we've lit every Christmas Eve since we were married. This is our 30th Christmas together -- and the candle, one of those tall, pillar types -- hasn't burned even halfway down yet. As the love of my life put it, we'd better live a really long time or that candle will go to waste.

We got the idea from my parents, who would light a small, green candle at 6 p.m. every Christmas Eve, then blow it out moments later lest it disappear altogether. There was still a scrap of it left the Christmas before my dad died.

I hope we do live a long time, not only to watch our candle gradually disappear but to keep on growing, keep on experiencing new things, keep on sharing our traditions with our family.

And I hope tomorrow brings, to all of you who celebrate Christmas, the simple joy of being with the people you love.

Day 48: Gravy days

I just came across a line in a book by NPR reporter Eric Weiner titled "The Geography of Bliss: One Grump's Search for the Happiest Places in the World." At this point in the book he's been interviewing people in Slough, England, generally considered to be one of Earth's unhappier places (though apparently not nearly as unhappy as Moldova).

Weiner comes to the conclusion that when you reach a certain point in your life -- say, middle age -- every day you're given is pure gravy. You wake up in the morning and get another shot at getting it right, at finding happiness. Pure gravy.

I read this just hours after I'd read about the death of yet another high school classmate. That makes four that I know of this year -- four out of the 200 or so of us who made up the Class of '68. We are, it seems, dropping like flies.

But I'm still here and feeling especially grateful to be. Grateful for these gravy days.

Day 47: Would you like nuts with that?

My grandmother lived on coffee, Ritz crackers and chocolate -- with an occasional nip from one of the little bottles of brandy and water she kept hidden around her home in case she had a bout of angina.

She lived to be almost 94.

I thought of her today as I munched on a grilled cheese sandwich in a little cafe near Ithaca, N.Y. At the counter stood a tiny, slightly stooped woman who had to be well past 80. She waited patiently while the handful of people in line ahead of her placed their orders. Then she waited patiently while her own order was filled.

A few minutes later, she turned and walked toward me carrying, with all the care of a little kid pressed into ring-bearer duty, an ice cream sundae piled high with whipped cream.

Early this morning, I had to have some blood work done in anticipation of my annual physical. I dread the thought of how high my cholesterol figures will be when my doctor goes over my test results with me. The news is usually not good -- at least, not in the "lipids" department.

I wondered about the old woman with the ice cream sundae. Does she have naturally low cholesterol levels? Does she have a death wish?

This much I do now: She was beaming like a little kid who had just been given, well, a dish of ice cream piled high with whipped cream.

I hope she enjoyed every single bite.

Day 45, I think ...

My mother-in-law and her husband paid us brief visit this weekend. I marvel at her youth. She is, in fact, the youngest 84-year-old I know -- my role mode for aging.

I credit her positive attitude for her youthful outlook on life. If there are words she lives by, they're "All will be well." Somehow, when I hear her say it I believe it's true.

No, she doesn't walk 2 miles a day or participate in marathons. But she lives life fully and actively, with a strong faith in God and an equally strong belief that you have to get out there and be useful. More good words to live by.

The two of them blew into town Friday evening after driving 500 miles and left less than 40 hours later for another three-hour drive to the next set of relatives. They will continue to make the rounds of loved ones straight through Christmas.

I heard my mother-in-law tell her sister as they chatted on the phone yesterday that traveling, especially in winter, takes a lot out of them. This might, she said, be their "swan song" trip.

Knowing her, knowing her sense of adventure and love of family, I doubt it.

Day 42 (43 and 44): Reinventing ourselves

Do we have to? Reinvent ourselves, I mean?

I keep running into that word, "reinventing," sometimes in reference to people whose jobs have disappeared in the recession, sometimes in reference to people pushing 60 -- and beyond -- deciding to chuck the careers they've stuck with for decades to explore new options.

I'm feeling a little peer pressure here.

I'm not sure whether I'm in a rut or that I simply like what I do, but I don't have a strong desire to chuck it all and start a new career. It might have something to do with the fact that I'm not really equipped to start a new career, not without some serious retraining.

And that's where I keep bumping into this notion that it might be just a wee bit late for me to be starting over.

I wish I were one of those people who look to the future without fear of failure, who see in every new day an opportunity to experience something new, who believe in their ability to reinvent themselves. But I'm not. I'm one of those people who plays it safe.

Maybe next lifetime ...

Day 41: Of all the things I've lost ...

... I miss my mind the most.

OK, that line isn't original with me, but it sums up my frustration with those memory lapses -- aka "senior moments" -- that leave me wondering how I could possibly forget the things I forget.

Like meetings, appointments, where I put my keys, my glasses, my wallet, our checkbook ... or writing a new post for this blog.

I marvel at my mother's ability to recall details of the year she lived in New York City. She was 5 at the time. Ninety-two years later, she can tell you about her kindergarten, the blackout curtains on the windows (this was during World War I), the oil from a sunken German submarine that soiled a beach and stained her white kid-leather shoes.

I can't remember what I had for dinner two nights ago.

Not that I care about that, but I do care that I can't remember where I stashed some important papers that I was SURE I had put on my desk. Or maybe in a file folder somewhere.

A friend used to say that she always put her important papers in a single drawer. Then she lost the drawer.

Sounds better than saying you're just plain losing it.

Day 40: News to me

Every time I hear someone say the newspaper industry is on life support and not expected to survive, I swear I can hear my bones creak.

I spent a long time, maybe too long, working for a newspaper and have, for far longer, been a newspaper reader. I credit my parents for that. Two dailies -- the local paper and the Cleveland Plain Dealer -- were delivered to our home when I was a kid. I took pride in how well I did on the weekly current events quiz that ran in my local paper.

And like many people of a certain age, I cannot imagine mornings without a newspaper in my hands. I've tried reading the morning news online, taking care not to drip milk from my cereal bowl on the keyboard, but it's just not the same.

Geez, I sound like an old coot. But even some younger "coots" I know agree that it would be difficult to do without a daily paper.

This weekend, after a long stretch in the same building, the newspaper where I worked for more than 30 years is moving. The building's been sold, and the paper will lease space in a building a few miles from its current site. I'm one of several people who were let go this year in yet another attempt to keep the paper afloat.

Sad as I am to no longer be a part of it, I wish the paper well. I don't like change -- and I would hate to lose something that's as much a part of my morning as that bowl of cereal.

Day 39: The good news ...

My aging eyes got a thorough examination this week. And though I definitely need stronger glasses, I did get a bit of good news.

My eye doctor has a new retina camera thingy that, as you've probably guessed, produces an image of the retina. The image is loaded on a computer and enlarged, so that when the doctor discusses it with you you're looking at something the size of a toddler's head. It's impressive, if a little creepy.

The good news? I have healthy retinas.

My knees ache, my tummy muscles sag, but I have healthy retinas.

Woo-hoo!

Day 38: Mirror image

OK, I admit I like to stand in front of the bathroom mirror and imagine what I'd look like with a face lift. Not that I'd ever get one. Oh no, not me ...

But it's tempting whenever I see the difference it makes when I pull up the skin along my jaw line just a tinch. Voila -- 10 years gone

Not that I'd ever pay to have someone do this to me. Oh no, not me ... After all, that's the sort of thing only vain people do, right? Or people who have more money than they know what to do with.

Still, it's kind of nice to see an earlier version of myself -- and not so nice to see it fade away when I let go and my jawline goes all jowly.

I thought all that moisture lotion I started slapping on my face in my 20s was supposed to keep this from happening.

Day 37: Snow, reconsidered

My father didn't share my enthusiasm for big snowstorms. After all, he had to plow the stuff. All I had to do was go to bed at night and pray for a snow day.

I used to wonder at what age people went from loving the sight of a snowy day to hating the thought of it. Now I think I might be approaching that age.

We've had just two episodes of measurable snow in my part of the world. And yes, I thought they both turned the brown world of late autumn into something much lovelier.

But there's a good chance we'll get some significant snowfall in the next day or so. Frankly, I'm not looking forward to it. I have things to do the morning after the storm is expected to hit. I do not relish the thought of driving through all that slush and muck.

It helps that there's a 3-year-old in the house. He approaches life with so much wonder and excitement that it's impossible to be cynical in his presence.

I just hope that when he wakes up to a winter wonderland on Wednesday morning, his excitement will prove contagious.

Day 35 (and 36): It's beginning to look a lot like ...

... the Christmas crazies have begun. The most visible manifestation, for me, was the traffic jam on a local parkway a couple of days ago. The parkway is home to a handful of strip malls, one of which includes a Wal-Mart. This time of year, you don't drive on the parkway. You inch along it.

And in years past, I've done just that -- over and over in that mad dash to track down all the stuff on my Christmas list. This year, I am avoiding the parkway whenever possible. I'm also trying to avoid the Christmas crazies. So far, so good.

I am determined to pass my 60th Christmas in peace, not panic. I want the most important thing I spend time on this Christmas to be my family. I don't want to waste my time and my energy standing in department store lines. (I'm becoming a serious fan of online shopping, especially when the stores promise free shipping.)

We'll see if I can continue to keep the crazies at bay. After all, there are still 17 shopping days until Christmas left.

Day 34: Luddites Anonymous

A former newspaper colleague, a man in his 70s, is well known for his dislike of computers. Up until a few years ago, he'd type his columns on an old IBM Selectric, then have a secretary type them into the computer.

In time, he relented and learned to work the newsroom computers. These days, he even uses e-mail.

I spent part of the day at a training session for faculty members who will be teaching online during my school's winter term. I was, by far, the oldest person there. I'm determined not to fall so far behind the times, technologically speaking, that I turn into one of those pathetic old farts who try to look cool and end up looking silly in front of a couple dozen 20-year-olds as they fumble with the computers in their classroom.

I can hold my own. In fact, having taught online twice, I'm starting to feel as if I know what I'm doing. It feels good to feel competent at something new.

Day 33 (I think): Taking the stairs

There's a small parking space near my office, where in the past you could park for no more than 30 minutes. Now there's a new system in place that allows you to prepay for an entire day.

It's way too tempting to shell out a couple of bucks and skip that half-mile, uphill walk from the lot where I usually park. But I vowed this morning to use the free lot and walk.

So there I was, trudging along, climbing staircase after staircase and trying to catch my breath. Clearly, I need to be climbing more steps.

The last time I felt this winded after walking uphill to my office, my doctor sent me to a cardiologist for a stress test. His conclusion? That I was out of shape.

Gee, thanks.

Day 29 (and 30, 31 and 32)

So I took a little vacation ...

Here's what I learned about pushing 60 during my holiday visit with family in Ohio:

• No one should ever, ever smoke.
• Smoking will more than likely kill you -- slowly and painfully.
• Smoking will rob you of your breath, your strength.
• The 60s appear to be when the stuff really hits the fan if you are a lifelong smoker.

I have four older brothers, three of whom smoked most of their adult life. Two have quit, but only after their health went south. The third says he's in the process of quitting. That process has been going on since the first of his two heart bypass surgeries.

The brother who never smoked is 70. He's in good shape. In fact, he's in better shape than any of his three younger brothers. He does not gloat about this. It's just too sad to see the damage cigarettes have done to people he loves. People I love.

We lost our dad to lung cancer and heart disease just after he turned 69. I hope ALL my brothers make it to 70 -- and well beyond that.

Day 28: Pass the Mylanta

Our national celebration of overeating is just about over for another year. This year finds me in the company of family in Ohio, where most of us are either pushing or past 60. So it should come as no surprise that our digestive tracts have been a frequent topic of conversation today.

This is not something we would have spent a lot of time discussing when we were all in our 30s. Politics, not polyps, were more apt to be the topic of our conversations.

Such is life.

I don't half mind comparing symptoms. After all, I share genes with some of these folks. What happens to them could predict what will happen to me (thought, thankfully, I'm not a smoker and thus expect to avoid the smoking-related ailments that three of my siblings suffer from).

The good news is that we seem to be keeping our collective sense of humor as we stumble into this next phase of our lives.

I hope we never lose that.

Day 25 (and 26 and 27)

OK, I admit it: I've fallen behind in my posts on this blog. So this is me catching up with a short post from Ohio, where we've just arrived for a Thanksgiving visit. It's good to be back home, and though the family home is no longer in the family, we'll have good family time in various locations over the next few days.

Enjoy the good food, especially if you're still young enough not to need anti-heartburn medication.

Day 24: Why postpone joy?

Family members just sent me a list of wise thoughts written by an Ohio woman who recently turned 90. I was struck by how many of those thoughts emphasized her belief that live should be lived now -- that we ought to light those candles we've been saving for a special occasion, ought to wear that special outfit and use the good china because, she said, every day is special.

Maybe it's easier to say that at 90 than it is at 59, but I appreciated the reminder. I tend to daydream about all the good things to come instead of recognizing what I have right now. Maybe one day I really will have a space all to myself where I can write and paint and think, but the fact that I don't have that now shouldn't be an excuse for not writing or painting -- or thinking. Maybe one day I really will be physically fit, but the fact that I'm not at the moment shouldn't be an excuse for delaying the changes I need to make. Keep up that sort of thinking and sooner or later you run out of tomorrows.

We can choose to postpone joy, and we can choose to be happy now. I'm choosing to be happy now, even though life isn't quite what I'd like it to be.

Because even when I finally think it is, I'll probably find something else to complain about.

Day 23: Friends in need

I spent part of my morning with some old friends, and some new ones, at a meeting for people whose lives are affected by a loved one with an addiction. I hadn't been in a few years; life was feeling balanced enough and my loved ones who have struggled with addiction seemed OK enough for me to stop going.

And then ... one day I needed to be reminded that we can change ourselves, but not those we hold dear.

We're not in the driver's seat of other people's lives, but once you've been a parent it can be easy to forget that. We so want to make things right for our children, to knock all the barriers out of the way, forgetting that it's learning to contend with those barriers that helps us grow and develop into capable individuals.

I have so much to learn. I hope I don't run out of time.

Day 22: Queen of the mountain

This brisk, gray November day found me scrambling up a hillside with my 3-year-old grandson always a few steps ahead of me. It was a bit muddy after a heavy rain the night before, but he'd been planted in front of the TV set all morning. I wanted to air him out.

At one point, he turned and shouted, "I'm the king of the mountain!" He was clearly proud of himself as his voice echoed off the surrounding hillsides.

I was inspired.

"And I'm the queen!" I shouted.

OK, I did feel a little silly. But there was no one around to hear us but the dog. And she promised not to tell.

Day 21: Waiting for the rebound

Five days after I first came down with a miserable cold, I've begun to feel human again.

Underline "begun."

I don't want to admit that aging has anything to do with the fact that I still feel as if I'd been hit by a truck, but, well, I still feel as if I'd been hit by a truck.

Day 20: Thinking of home

A week from now I'll be well on my way to Ohio to be with my family for Thanksgiving, the first time I'll have been there for that holiday in years. As I sit here thinking about that trip, I'm listening to Judy Collins sing about her grandmother's house, which is "still there, but it isn't the same."

My own grandmother's house is still there, back in Ohio, still owned by my family, though hanging onto it hasn't always been easy. It was built by my great-grandfather, a German immigrant. My grandmother and my mother were born there. My grandfather spent some of his last hours there.

But, as the song goes, it isn't the same.

My brother lives in the smaller of the two houses on the property. The other, the main house, is occupied by tenants, good tenants who pay the rent on time. But it just isn't the same.

I make a point to drive past there when I make my way home to Ohio. And, as Collins sings, I wish the others who drive by it could see what I see: a porch full of people on a warm summer evening, rocking, swinging, talking and laughing, while the children look for buckeyes in the tiny yard or roost on the porch steps and count the cars passing by.

But that was a very long time ago. My grandmother died in 1980. Her beautiful things have been dispersed throughout the family (though my brother still dreams of one day filling the house with all its original furnishings). And while the house doesn't look bad -- in fact, it looks well for its age -- I've come to accept that it is, after all, just a house.

Thank goodness for memories that don't dim with time. Because when I want to, I can put myself there, on that porch, on a warm summer evening with the nighthawks screeching overhead, watching cars -- and time -- pass by without a care in the world.

Day 19: Gaining ground

The bug that has rearranged my schedule in recent days is starting to yield to chicken soup, clear liquids and bed rest. I just wish I could remember what day it is.

Being housebound for a few days has me slightly befuddled. I keep thinking tomorrow is a teaching day (it's not) and that today is Monday (it isn't). It's a little like being on vacation -- without the fun.

Days like this find me nostalgic for the family doctor who made house calls when I was a kid and for those long days in bed, being pampered by my mom, when I was too sick to go to school.

That doctor -- like house calls -- is long gone, and Mom can barely take care of herself.

Growing up isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Day 18: Still sick, but ...

Guess all that hand sanitizer I've been using still wasn't enough to ward off the bad bugs out there. (Cough, cough.)

At least I've had time to read.

In bed, no less.

Day 17: Sick day

Sore throat.

Swollen glands.

Achy body.

Nasty cough.

Stuffy nose.

Rotten attitude.

More tomorrow.

Day 16: She's HOW old?

Whoopi Goldberg turned 54 today. Funny, I thought she was older than me.

Come to think of it, I used to think most people were older than me.

Then, a few months ago, I met the surgeon who was about to operate on my husband. He's 34. I'm old enough to be his mommy.

Damn.

Day 15: Soccer takes its toll

I never did get my "fitness walk" in yesterday, despite the decent weather. I figured playing soccer with the resident 3-year-old would suffice. We chased a couple of soccer balls around the backyard for half an hour, leaving him with pink cheeks and me a bit winded.

It wasn't until a few hours later, while I was in town doing a little Christmas shopping, that my knees started to ache. In fact, I had to cut short my shopping trip -- which is probably just as well. I headed home, vowing to find a more low-impact way to get myself moving.

My mother has arthritis in her knees and hips. That's why, at 97, she spends most of her day in a wheelchair. She hates to take pills, so she's often in pain.

Thinking of her is one of my best motivators to get in shape. So is reading recently on WebMD that for every pound of body weight an overweight person sheds, there's a 4-pound reduction in stress on the knee joint.

Talk about motivation.

Day 14: A walk on the mild side

Driving to work this morning I passed two people a few minutes apart who were doing some serious walking. I'd guess they were both in their 50s, and they both had big smiles on their faces.

This despite the overcast sky and the morning chill.

Exercise is supposed to do that for you -- give you a mental boost along with the physical benefits. It took awhile for me to be convinced of this, but I am now. When I don't exercise regularly, my mood stinks. When I do, I actually feel energetic.

So one morning very soon, despite the chill in the air, I promise I will strap on the sneakers, hit the pavement and walk. If you happen to pass me on your way to work, I promise to smile.

Day 13: Early to bed ...

My father had a pretty strict bedtime routine that usually followed a quick check of all the door locks and stove knobs (we didn't know this was called OCD back then). Invariably, he'd be upstairs by 9:30 and nodding off by 10. I used to wonder how anyone could fall asleep that early.

It's now 9:45 p.m., and I've already nodded off twice in the past few hours. The only thing keeping me from heading upstairs to bed is, well, this blog.

Night after night, as I slip into bed, I hear myself declaring that this is the best part of the day. I usually mean it.

I wonder how early my bed time will be in, say, five or 10 years. At 97, my mom is usually in bed by 8:30 and often has trouble staying awake that long.

Such fun times to look forward to.

Day 12: Old friends

I passed the evening in the company of three of my favorite people on the planet, one of whom I'm lucky enough to be married to. The other two, a married couple I've known since I moved to upstate New York more than 30 years ago, have seen me at my best and my worst -- and in spite of that, we're still good friends.

The occasion was our annual dinner out to celebrate three of our four birthdays, which fall within a couple of weeks of each other. Over the years we've compared notes as we passed from our 20s to our 30s, our 40s and beyond. Tonight one of my friends said his wish for the next year was to stay out of the hospital. Given that he's had some serious health problems in recent years, it seemed an appropriate birthday wish.

I'm lucky. I'm in reasonably good health. Out of shape, but in reasonably good health. I credit good genes more than anything. My mother is 97, and her only serious health problem is arthritis. Her mother lived to be almost 94. She lived a full and active life right up to her last year, and she did it on a diet that seemed to consist largely of coffee and chocolates.

But I did inherit my dad's high cholesterol. My numbers aren't exactly off the charts, but they're not great. So one of my goals for this next year is to get those numbers down considerably. Giving up ice cream would probably be a good way to start, but I suspect it will take much more than that.

I hate having to think about this stuff.

Day 11: Out with the old

I saved the best of my children's toys in the hope I'd one day get to share them with grandchildren. And I have. With the joy of passing them on to the next generation, I've also had the joy of remembering when my own children cherished those firetrucks and dolls and toy trains.

But lately I've been staring at the cluttered closets of my life and wondering what I can get rid of. I feel the need to pare down, to simplify, to travel lightly through the next decade.

It isn't going to be easy, not after 30 years of living in the same house.

When my mother was struggling with the decision to sell her house, her home of 60 years, my brother said something like: "Let it go. It served its purpose. Let it serve someone else's purpose now." His words freed her from whatever had been holding her back. Within a few days a "For Sale" sign appeared on her front lawn.

"Let it go. It served its purpose. Let it serve someone else's purpose now." Not a bad mantra for someone who's trying to pare down, simplify, lighten the load for the road ahead.

Day 10: Faith of my father -- and mother

I was raised Catholic and went through the questioning and doubt in college that's typical of many young adults. I stopped going to Sunday Mass, or would arrive late and leave early. I reasoned that all those Masses I had attended growing up had built up my spiritual bank account enough that I could risk staying away for awhile.

I go to Mass regularly now, have done so for more than 30 years. And I've found in faith a source of strength and comfort through the most difficult times of my life -- so much so, that I wonder what people who have no faith in anything greater than themselves do when they feel lost and alone.

As I reread my ramblings about wanting to get in shape, I wonder how much stronger my spiritual health would be if I paid it half as much attention as I do my waistline. Faith is a muscle, too. I let it grow weak at my own risk.

Day 9: Part of the harmony

A quote attributed to St. Therese of Lisieux is posted on the door of our fridge: "Each little task of everyday life is part of the harmony of the universe." I think of that quote when I'm trying to catch up on the laundry, or I'm doing the dishes (and wishing I could get off my feet), or struggling with a 3-year-old who doesn't want to go to bed just yet.

I used to think that by this point in my life I would have accomplished great things, which may be why, at times, the mundane "stuff" of my everyday existence feels like a kind of failure.

Then I remember that quote. And I find myself thinking that maybe, just maybe, all that "stuff" is helping to keep the universe (or at least some small part of it) humming along. If the laundry didn't get done, if I gave up on the dishes or, God forbid, gave up on that child, a small piece of the universe might spin out of control. Then another. And another.

And if we all gave up, the whole shebang might collapse.

So I'll get up in the morning. I'll fix breakfast. I'll drive my grandson to day care and head off to teach -- and do my bit to keep the universe in harmony and intact.

I think that qualifies as an accomplishment.

Day 8: Excess baggage (Part 2)

As I try to let go of some emotional baggage, I also need to let go of some other baggage -- better known as a spare tire.

I recall my mom saying once that when people reach middle age they tend to "spread out." She made it sound inevitable.

So I took it as a challenge, even though she didn't intend it to be. So far, it's looking more and more as if Mom was right.

Then I see someone around my age looking fit and trim, and I know I'm just making excuses. I'm pushing 60 -- time to quit fooling myself. My spare tire is inevitable only if I give up and don't try to do anything about it.

So this is me, promising me, that I will, at long last, do something about it.

Day 7: Excess baggage (Part 1)

My mother clings to memories of painful moments in her past. And at 97, she has a lot of moments to mull over.

Hurtful remarks from 50 or 60 years ago still sting as if the offender had said them to her only yesterday. I wish she could let those memories go.

I once suggested that she try, in her own good time, to forgive the people who had said those things to her. It didn't work.

I'd like to believe I didn't inherit this tendency. But lately I've noticed that some very old insecurities -- insecurities that caused some pain when I was still a kid -- remain with me.

I'd like to think I've grown up enough to feel secure in my own skin, but I have my weak spots. I can easily be made to feel "not good enough" in the presence of someone who bubbles with confidence or someone who's clearly affluent. At such moments I'm back in my childhood neighborhood feeling as if I didn't measure up to my best friend's rich friends.

And you'd think by now I'd have gotten over the need for approval -- validation, they call it -- from someone other than myself.

But no.

Not yet, anyway.

So I'm making it a goal to let go of this baggage as I work my way through the 358 days before I turn 60. I don't want to start another decade toting all that junk on my back.

Wish me luck.

Day 6: The antidote to death

I really should stop reading the death notices in the paper every morning. Sometimes I even check the notices on my hometown newspaper's Web site to see if yet another of my high school classmates has died.

Most days when I check the obits in my local paper, I see one for someone who's my age or younger, a sober reminder that I'm not a kid anymore. On gloomy days -- and we're prone to those around here -- I can get in a real funk about this.

An article in The New York Times last year, written by an oncology nurse, told the gripping story of a patient's death, a death that clearly left its mark on her. The writer, Theresa Brown, concluded with a statement I copied over and printed out in large type so I could tack it up and read it often. It's a marvelous prescription for someone who's fretting about mortality:

"What can one do? Go home, love your children, try not to bicker, eat well, walk in the rain, feel the sun on your face and laugh loud and often, as much as possible, and especially at yourself. Because the only antidote to death is not poetry, or drama, or miracle drugs, or a roomful of technical expertise and good intentions. The antidote to death is life."

Day 5: One foot in front of the other

Walking is the one form of exercise I've managed to stick with for any length of time. It has a lot to do with the effect walking has on my state of mind.

When I need to clear my head, I like to walk. When I'm stressed out, I like to walk. When the beauty of an autumn afternoon draws me outside, I like to walk -- and drink in the colors before they fade.

I've tried keeping track of the minutes and miles I walk, but I can't seem to stick to a strict schedule, not when there's a toddler in the house. So walking has become something of a luxury for me.

My mother, who turned 97 a few months ago, can't walk more than a few steps because of the arthritis in her knees and hips. I think of her every time I feel a twinge of pain in my own knees. She often says she'd give anything to go for a walk, something she used to do quite often. It reminds me never to take my health for granted.

I hope to spend more of the year ahead putting one foot in front of the other, letting my legs, aches and all, take me to that place where my breathing is steady, my head is clear and life seems full of possibilities.

Day 4: Anybody seen my brain?

Four days in and I've already managed to forget to post a message to this new blog. I'll be sticking a post-it note on the bathroom mirror later today to remind me not to forget again.

I've gotten used to these lapses in memory, these so-called senior moments. At first, way back in my 40s, they used to annoy me because they struck me as a harbinger of deterioration to come. But I was a much-too-busy person in my 40s, too busy to keep tabs on everything I needed to remember. And I wasn't good at writing things down -- things like meetings and appointments.

I'm still not that great at writing things down, preferring instead to trust my now 59-year-old memory. It's my way of living life on the edge. So I do forget the occasional meeting or appointment, much to my embarrassment. But I vowed when I turned 50 that I wasn't going to let my life get as crazy as it was when I was in my 40s.

I hope my 60s find me even more willing to focus on the here and now.

Day 3: Failure? What failure?

I spent some time today advising an undergraduate student who thinks he might like to become a journalist. Part of me wanted to talk him out of it, and part of me wanted to thank him for believing in the craft I've been practicing for the past 34 years.

Then I said something I've said to countless other students in my years of teaching: Dream big.

Life has a way of forcing us to rethink and reshape our dreams, but we should never let go of them. Lately, though, I've felt some of my own dreams slipping away: dreams of writing more, painting more, being more.

The busy-ness of life is one reason. Fear of failure is another. While I don't think I can make my life less busy just yet, I can try to let go of that fear.

Hey, I'm pushing 60. What have I got to lose?

Day 2: Where's my energy?

People often tell me I look tired. But then, I've had dark circles under my eyes since I was a teenager. I've tried covering them with makeup, but it doesn't help much. So I've become resigned to looking tired, even when I'm not.

I've had my energetic moments, but for much of my life I've been, well, stuck in second gear. Being a low-energy person isn't been a big deal -- unless, of course, you happen to live with a toddler. And I do.

One reason for my birthday resolution to take better care of myself is the new level of exhaustion I've come to know since my then-newborn grandson came to live with us. Three years on, I struggle to keep up with him.

It's a vicious cycle: I'm too tired to exercise, so I don't. And because I haven't been exercising of late, I'm tired all the time.

So tomorrow I'll park as far as I can from my office without actually leaving campus. It's a start. And that's what I really need to do: start.

Here's hoping it doesn't rain.

Day 1: Where's the half-and-half?

I reached for the pitcher marked "half-and-half" at the coffee kiosk in the building on the campus where I teach. It was empty. Next to it stood two nearly full pitchers, one marked "2 percent milk" and one marked "skim milk."

At age 59 years and one day, I am easily 25 pounds overweight and have achy knees, not to mention a fair amount of flab where my muscles used to be. Clearly, I should have reached for the skim milk.

I didn't.

"Do you have more half-and-half?" I asked the woman behind the counter.

She was happy to oblige. Out of the fridge came a chilled pitcher filled to the brim with the good stuff.

I indulged.

Then I bought a slice of pumpkin bread. Hey, pumpkin is packed with beta carotene. It's GOOD for you. So are the chopped walnuts, especially if your LDL level is high. And I read somewhere that coffee is supposed to help keep your mind sharp.

Those are my excuses, and I'm sticking to them.

364 days and counting

Yesterday marked the end of my 59th year on the planet. That makes today the first day of the year-long slog toward my 60th birthday. I intend to A) get there and B) get there in better shape -- physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually -- than I am today. I have my work cut out for me.

As part of that commitment to myself and to what I hope will be a better year, I'm starting this new blog, my second on blogspot.com (My other blog is "Keeping in Touch," which you'll find at maryhaupt.blogspot.com). I considered naming the new blog "On the road to geezer-hood" but decided "Pushing 60" was a kinder, gentler way to refer to the year ahead of me -- and any of you who are approaching that birthday.

I plan to post a brief message to the blog each day about my successes (and failures) along the way in the hope that you might find something useful here. If not, it should be good for a laugh or two. The last thing I want to do at this stage of my life is start taking myself too seriously.

Feel free to use the new blog to share your own ideas on this next decade of life. Getting older may not be the easiest thing we'll ever do, but we don't have to do it alone.