Spring, finally!  Happy Passover! (Seder tonight with my husband’s family)  Happy Equinox! 
 
The golfers are returning outside our windows.  We took a Spring Break bike ride in the 70-degree weather. The kids will go in person to school on April 5th. Jory and I got texts from the NM Health Department on Monday that we are greenlit for the first Moderna shot.  On Tuesday, coincidentally, my sister in Arizona and cousin in Ohio got their first shots too (what are the odds??). 
 
Then smack dab in the middle of Spring Break and all this renewal, we had a 24-hour freak blizzard. Temps dropped down to 30, winds gusted up to 60 mph.   Much like hearing of the recent shootings in GA and CO, and the voter restrictions in Georgia.  A chill. All progress felt frozen.
 
This I think, is how emerging from the COVID bubble will be.  Rather than a straight line, life will give us two steps forward, one step back.  
 
The beauty here is that it gives us a continual chance to redefine and recreate a newness for our lives, not just return to how things used to be.
 
While on Spring Break, Ali qualified for her first prize in the Newberry Challenge by writing up five of the Newberry books she’s read.  One was EB White's Charlotte’s Web (which still makes me cry - even at 52).   
 
What Charlotte tells Wilbur towards the end of the book is perfect for us, who are slowly and gradually reawakening from our COVID hibernation:
 
Winter will pass, the days will lengthen, the ice will melt in the pasture pond.  The song sparrow will return and sing, the frogs will awake, the warm wind will blow again. All these sights and sounds and smells will be yours to enjoy Wilbur – this lovely world, these precious days… (p. 164)
 
These precious days indeed.

This past week was unremitting.  Exhausting.
Jory had business in Los Angeles, and all three kids were on spring break.  Non-stop.
 
On top of that, what's been really hard is that my mom is not progressing as hoped in rehab after her hip surgery. In fact, a new environment and schedule has triggered her dementia.  This has meant many many many daily phone calls (to her, Dad, Rehab place, nearby friends) and texts (to siblings).
 
Aging takes its toll - on all of us. Simply put, what is not growing EVERY DAY is withering, whether it be our muscles, our balance, our mind, our courage, our emotional capacity or our very spirit.  
 
This past week has made me think hard about how best to maximize and celebrate the time I have left on this earth.  Simply put, as I am dealing with numerous conditions that my parents are suffering from, I’ve felt discouraged, sad and helpless (hence the delay in my blog).  I cannot change their lives. I can only become proactive in my own in a way I wish they had in theirs. 
 
After much reflection, I've decided I want to continually engage in and grow in (the below) five areas. I'm not implying that focusing thusly will eradicate suffering, loss, and hardship as I age. All of that is part of life, which we are here to fully experience.  Instead, I believe investing in these areas will infuse my life with greater quality and joy. 

Thankfully, I am lucky to have friends who show me, through own examples of going above and beyond, how best to navigate these crucial areas: 

1. Nutrition:  It’s the metaphorical gas and oil in our cars.  Sugar and carbs (especially gluten) don’t result just in weight gain but, from middle-age on, in inflammation, memory fog and all sorts of trouble. My friend (and former next door neighbor) Leah Ruiz has introduced me over the years to intermittent fasting, ketogenic eating, hormone education, and neurologist Dr. David Perlmutter. When I stray from these, I always feel the need to go back to them.
2. Exercise: Stretching, strength, cardio – mix them up and repeat.  Pick one daily. Here, my friend Janine Lichstein is a stellar role model.  We used to take the same yoga class at our trendy Santa Monica gym.  Then, as a former dancer, Janine became certified to teach yoga in her 60s (!). Now, a few years later, she takes me and other friends through an amazing stretch and strength hour-and-a-half class every Monday on zoom. (She asks for donations to benefit a cause dear to her heart: Didi Hersch).  While I am about 20 years younger than most participants, it’s a workout! (I’m on mute as I’m groaning at some point in every class – LOL).  Janine also teaches two beginner zoom yoga classes a week, in addition to a host of other activities (see #5).  Not a bad way to spend your 70s. 
3. Friendships – In my 20s, I was a Teaching Assistant in the USC Film School for a directing class that collaborated with theater students (ie: actors). The Theater School didn’t have the budget to provide the Theater Professor with a TA, but the Theater Professor appropriated me anyway.  And thus began a life-long friendship.  Eve Roberts, then 65, went out of her way to become my friend.  She told me that as I age, I would grow to rely on the friendships of my contemporaries, but that I need to also actively cultivate friendships with people of all ages, especially younger than myself.  In her 70s and 80s, Eve showed me that her same-age friendships became consumed with illness and people dying, and that she needed friends like me (then in my 30s and 40s) to help her maintain a new outlook on life and stay relevant. She advised me not just to rely on my kids. At 91 and 52, Eve and I are still in touch.  Thanks to Eve, I have made a point of building friendships with a few of the favorite kids I used to tutor, all now in their 20s (the same age I was when I met Eve).  Another Eve gem: seek out the really positive and fun CAN-DO people.  Be selective. 
4. Art/Self-Expression – For creatives, having the courage to dive in to your art and take it to the next level – be it art, music, writing, editing, designing, knitting, gardening – is a game changer.  Ironically, society makes us feel invisible from our 50s on, when we finally start having really interesting things to say!!! My artist friend Laurie Raskin was in her 60s when her son went to college, so she decided to take her art to a whole new level.  Almost a decade later, she has had gallery showings around the world, from New Orleans to Paris to Brussels to Los Angeles, and her designs can be found on tapestries, sneakers, greeting cards, face masks, scarves, shirts – you name it!!  She is completely invigorated and lives a most passionate life. I’m taking notes in a major way here.  (Photo of girls and I wearing her masks in earlier blog – more on the incredible Laurie at Laurieraskin.com) 
5. Mental/Curiosity/Spiritual Giving Back – The women in both of my LA book groups are role models here, but especially the group with members primarily in their 70s (and some 80s). The thirst for knowledge these women have is exceptionally inspiring.  I lead a challenging college-level discussion on both fiction and non-fiction selections for them, and outside of that, these woman can be found on the boards of multiple charities, making documentaries, teaching yoga (yup, Janine Lichstein), writing for publications, attending lectures…these women give back.  Through them I see that the brain is a tool that can be continually whetted and sharpened. I LOVE our book group discussions as they have so much perspective and insight. In addition, I am continually listening to speakers and talks about growth, change, courage, possibility, confidence and the like.

 
One of the most challenging aspects of moving to NM is leaving all these exceptional women (all live in LA).  Of course, we’re staying in touch, but as things are opening up, I’ll miss getting together for lunch, or book groups or pool time or walks on the beach.  
 
Having these women as friends and guides in my life reminds me of how true Frank Lloyd Wright’s observation is: “The longer I live, the more beautiful life becomes.”  
​I am so grateful for them.

​The media is full of reminders that a year ago today, our kids went to in-person school for the last time, and the world shut down (a “two-week shutdown” we said).
I remember this clearly, because nine years ago today I gave birth to Ali Unicorn Bear Sage Young Rosen (some of those names may have been added by the erson in question). 
It was a year with odd toilet paper hoarding, the canceling of life as we knew it, the debate over masks, denial and lies from our Commander-in-Chief, the introduction of remote learning, ZOOM!, loneliness, stress, deaths – so many deaths.
 
I loved President’s Biden’s first address to We the People last night.  “Finding the light in the darkness is a very American thing to do,” he reminded us.  Note: not denying or glossing over the darkness, but entering in to it. How else can we find the light?
 
Biden shared that every day he carries a card with his schedule in his pocket (so retro!). On the back of this card he writes the new daily number of American COVID deaths.  He humanizes this number as “Husbands, wives, sons and daughters, grandparents, friends, neighbors, young and old.” My mind fills with stories of how Lincoln felt similarly weighed down by the deaths of those he was leading.
 
The price of living through a historic time is that things are different, darker.  Although we have lost friends to COVID, my family is lucky to still be healthy.  We were not as lucky financially.  Having a small marketing business when society shut down took its toll. We are among many who left LA for more opportunity. (After we explained how the cost of living elsewhere would allow us to have a house that is twice the size at half the cost, with a pool & jacuzzi thrown in, and a nationally ranked school down the road, our next door neighbors told us we influenced them to move out of Los Angeles too. Their home is currently in escrow.)
 
This is the reward of living through a historic time:  we see ourselves differently. We’ve had to do things differently, reinvent parts of ourselves. I suspect I am one of many holed up writing a book. Likewise, I believe there will be a plethora of great music and art to emerge from this time of isolation.
 
This time of isolation has also forced me to look at my relationship to time.
 
Time….I look at my joyful 9-year old and realize the bad news is that time flies.  I wish I could stop time to keep this fun and sweet little girl with me.  The good news is that we’re the pilot. We set the course, the priorities that dictate both our days now and our days to come.  She will age and change, but I can build a closeness that grows with her.
 
I was talking to my mom on Monday and she mentioned that her walking was worse than my dad’s, who was newly home from hospital after his fall.  “Why don’t you go see the chiropractor?” I asked. “It’s not the right time!” she protested.  I countered: “What? It’s much better to be proactive and get help before you develop a serious condition!” She insisted, “I’ll go down the road. As Fr. George always says, Live in this moment.” And thus she ended the conversation. (Silly me. It never goes well when I advise my mother. Will I ever learn?).  
 
Hours after our talk, Mom fell and broke her femur.  She had successful surgery on Wednesday, but is still in hospital and has a long long road of rehab ahead of her. 
 
To live in the moment, this moment, is not to be accepting and passive, as my Mom taught me and still believes. To live in this moment of time is to be aware.  To notice the leak BEFORE we have a flood on our hands.  To be conscious that our four-year old is having problems in preschool BEFORE it affects his self-esteem in kindergarten. To be mindful of our pre-teen’s frustrations BEFORE she hits puberty and hormones get thrown in to the mix. 
 
From recent testing, Ali was assessed a year behind in math.  As her English-major mom, I feel partly responsible. I encourage and work with her on her literacy (she is testing fourth grade in reading). But math? Luckily, as a third grader, if we are diligent, we can get her back on track, because as time goes on, it will become harder and harder for her to catch up.  And a defeated mindset will seal her fate.
 
As the poet Carl Sandburg said, “Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent.  Be careful, lest you let other people (and, let’s be honest, built-up circumstances) spend it for you.”
 
Time: both healer and killer of us all. Best be aware of it in order to spend it wisely, or it leaves us with many regrets.

Many of us are in an awkward season, made all the more awkward by COVID: the last few chapters of our parents’ lives. 
 
We’ve been at this stage for years (if we’re honest) but we’ve discovered that because endings are unpleasant, it’s possible to exist in a daily fog of their denial, especially when we are geographically remote. 
 
It’s ironic: part of the American dream is to live a long and happy life.  And yet, age demands so much change, that more often that not, long does not equal happy.  My dad still struggles with being in Independent Living, surprised that he didn’t die in his beloved home overlooking the ocean. His parents died young (his dad in his 40s, mom in her 50s) so he quietly kept his own life expectancy fairly low.  And yet, here he is!
 
At the start of the pandemic last March, I began monthly zoom calls with Amherst friends.  Every quarter it seems, a classmate loses a parent. What can we really do or say?  Our words of sympathy and condolence seem insufficient, especially in this age of quarantined burial rites.  We listen, and empathize how we’re in this together.  From this vulnerability, we share a space of loss together, and it has added a depth to our calls. Classmates now joining our zoom for the first time pick up on our humor immediately, but don’t realize that the ease in our calls has emerged from sitting with each other’s sorrows over the past year too. 
 
It’s powerful to connect with friends from our past. I spent an hour on the phone with my cousin Carol this morning. Carol has a fantastic sense of humor, and we love to compare notes: joking about our parents’ driving skills and cleaning habits (possibly scarier than their driving). And then it hit us - we remembered the days that our mothers used to laugh together about OUR (teenage) driving and cleaning habits, and they would declare how it would be so much easier if they just did it for us, but they want to respect our independence ….on what day did the roles reverse?
 
The last time I was in Boston, we got together at a local joint for lunch: me and my parents and Carol and her Dad Marty (her mom already having passed away).  We had a great time, but I don’t recall specifically what we talked about. Like so often happens in life, I didn’t realize it would be my last time seeing Uncle Marty, as he passed away a month ago. But even if I had realized this, what would I have changed? What else could I have said or done? It’s all so impermanent.
 
My dad’s been in hospital this week after a fall (and he’s “FINE”!  Huge disclaimer: my parents will kill me for even mentioning this so PLEASE don’t call them if you know them. “The Youngs are private” as my Uncle Charlie reminded me. It is only recently that I have come to learn that vulnerability creates bonding, that the personal is relatable to others because we then share in our humanity. That is one of my lessons, not my parents, so call me instead of them if you want to check in :).  
 
I called Dad yesterday in the hospital, and the call went something like this, “Hey Dad – you OK?”
 “I’m FINE. This place is prison, and they’ve got to let me out. Not even the wardens are friendly here.”  
“So I suppose the food…” 
“Oh, I ate better in the army.”  (Good to see the sardonic humor in tact).
“What got you in there?” 
“Well, there was this gust of wind that caused me to slip on the ice, so I fell. What can’t they understand about that?” 
“It sounds like they’re running a battery of tests to make sure you’re OK”.  
“I’m FINE. I just wanna get out of here. Tell them that.”
 
(I hear Cousin Carol in my head, “You know there’s usually something our parents are not telling us, right?”)
 
Thinking of Carol and Marty, I feel like there’s so much more I want to know about Dad, to say to him, to have him say to me. But my dad has never been one to talk. 
 
In an effort, I mention that my book group just read Doris Kearns Goodwin’s wonderful book about Presidents Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, FDR and LBJ.  I then ask him who is his favorite from the four. He has me repeat them, then replies, “I don’t know, why?” “Just curious.” I know my dad is a huge WWII buff.  He surprises me: “Lincoln, I guess.”  “Oh – I would have thought FDR!” I say.  He considers this, “Well, he was OK too.” And he then moves on to how the kids are in school.
 
Letting go. Of expectations, of others, of the past.  Missing both what was and what never was. Who we were and who we never could be.
Accepting. Where we are today. What is coming tomorrow.
 
Part of the shock of our parents’ death (even at a very old age) is that we become the old generation. Did we live to our fullest? Become our best selves? Love to capacity?  
​Gratefully, every day we each get a new chance.
 
(And Dad got discharged today from the hospital.  As he said, “I’m FINE”).