Recently, it’s as if my husband and I are standing on stage with an attentive audience as we perform an organ recital of our own that has nothing to do with emitting musical tones but rather one that barks out body aches and pains. Our knees scream out in an A minor as our backs bellow in G. Not to mention the bass vibrations resounding tones that reflect our daily loss of memory as we search for our missing keys, phones, glasses and wallets.

It appears we have crossed the mid-life mark and seem to be hobbling down a path with arrows pointing “For Senior Citizens Only” …offering great discount rates by the way!

I noticed yesterday, most of what my husband and I say to each other has to do with our physical discomforts. Now given, he did have a free pass earlier in the year as he was battling cancer, which thankfully has been eradicated.  But as of late we seem to be in harmony as we perform a constant dribble of:

“My back is out again, My neck hurts, My sinuses are flaring up, I hardly slept a wink last night, I screwed my knee up, I’m so exhausted, I lost my keys”, et al. And the ending stanza, a quiet hum that whispers, “Where have I gone?”

I made a request of my husband upon which it was agreed: No more ‘organ recital’ complaining unless it’s requires immediate attention or is an emergency.

The first few days hardly a word was exchanged between us as we held back our physical profundities. I was surprised to realize that we had misplaced the ability to share thoughts and feelings that were not linked to our aging bodies!

A month has now passed and outside of a small detour of talking about other people’s aging bodies, I’m happy to say that not only have we regained the ability to orate on subjects ranging from light banter to weightier matters, but we have also noticed the aforementioned physical aches and pains seem to have become only light background noise to our ‘soul awakened’ days!

Perhaps proving it to be true as spoken of Sir Charles Lyell in 1863, “…the improvable reason of Man himself — presents us with a picture of the ever-increasing dominion of Mind over Matter” (The Geological Evidence of the Antiquity of Man)…

…and most assuredly had we continued to perform cantatas on our biological witherings, we would have produced only dissonant chords resembling dirges for the decaying, and in turn, disabling our purpose and numbing our joy.

A reminder: Aging is what we make of it. Now go climb a mountain or a hill or just go for a walk and let these words create a melody that resound in your mind and spirit as you sing, “These are the best days of my life!”

Occasionally bumping elbows slumped one next to her donning wrinkled, elastic-waist kakis, chipped toenail polish and a stained GAP ball cap obviously hiding roots that were screaming for a touch up. With pale, puffy calves peeking out from tattered Capri’s and blending into a buttered popcorn-grease stained seat, I observed her out of the corner of my eye.

I had lost interest in the movie. Glancing sideways as if there was something worth noticing, I took inventory of this faultless reproduction of a young Cybil Sheppard crossed with a pinch of Bo Derek (name’s only my generation will recognize) while I, with popcorn kernels nuzzled between my slightly whitened teeth wondered, “What the hell has happened here”?!? And I was curious. “How does she do that…and sit up so straight and make it look so natural”?

I sat reeling in Youth as it wafted from her pores. It was like an out-of-reach dream of a time long ago when all my joints worked together holding up unyielding flesh as it bounced from perch to perch without the now, all too familiar joggle, wiggle and waggle.

So, in the glow of the big screen, I sat up a bit straighter and made a vow to myself to get back to the gym thinking for a moment that this would perhaps alter time’s cruel corporeal erosion. Instead I felt jealous and sad. And I would love to say in this moment I gleaned a morsel of encouraging insight from this unkind awakening about accepting this thing termed as ‘best time of your life’. Instead I comforted myself with the thought, “She probably can’t spell and has trouble reading the Huffington Post”…

But then again, I must admit there was a voice in the back of my mind reminding me if I do want this to be the ‘best time of my life’, all I have is the ‘Right Now’…

because the ‘Was Then’ can make me sad…

and the ‘What Is To Come’ incite fear.

And isn’t it true that adjusting perceptions in the ‘Right Now’ can bring about the most amazing gratitude?

I’ll adjust tomorrow. My “Right Now’ is still pissed and confused.

Occasionally bumping elbows slumped one next to her donning wrinkled, elastic-waist kakis, chipped toenail polish and a stained GAP ball cap obviously hiding roots that were screaming for a touch up. With pale, puffy calves peeking out from tattered Capri’s and blending into a buttered popcorn-grease stained seat, I observed her out of the corner of my eye.

I had lost interest in the movie. Glancing sideways as if there was something worth noticing, I took inventory of this faultless reproduction of a young Cybil Sheppard crossed with a pinch of Bo Derek (name’s only my generation will recognize) while I, with popcorn kernels nuzzled between my slightly whitened teeth wondered, “What the hell has happened here”?!? And I was curious. “How does she do that…and sit up so straight and make it look so natural”?

I sat reeling in Youth as it wafted from her pores. It was like an out-of-reach dream of a time long ago when all my joints worked together holding up unyielding flesh as it bounced from perch to perch without the now, all too familiar joggle, wiggle and waggle.

So, in the glow of the big screen, I sat up a bit straighter and made a vow to myself to get back to the gym thinking for a moment that this would perhaps alter time’s cruel corporeal erosion. Instead I felt jealous and sad. And I would love to say in this moment I gleaned a morsel of encouraging insight from this unkind awakening about accepting this thing termed as ‘best time of your life’. Instead I comforted myself with the thought, “She probably can’t spell and has trouble reading the Huffington Post”…

But then again, I must admit there was a voice in the back of my mind reminding me if I do want this to be the ‘best time of my life’, all I have is the ‘Right Now’…

because the ‘Was Then’ can make me sad…

and the ‘What Is To Come’ incite fear.

And isn’t it true that adjusting perceptions in the ‘Right Now’ can bring about the most amazing gratitude?

I’ll adjust tomorrow. My “Right Now’ is still pissed and confused.

I don’t have an awful lot in common with Lady Gaga except I too was daily bullied both at school and at home. And with the subject of bullying now gaining greater awareness and being addressed in a wider public arena, I have increasingly become more aware of the impact it has had in my own life.

I was a big child both in height and girth. Daily called names such as, Blubberbutt, Fatso, Pearbottom, Ugly, and the ever witty, “Do you have a license to be pregnant?” …I marched seemingly unaffected and unresponsive through my days. Physical harm was not uncommon for me. I have sharp and poignant memories of sixth grade recess and the game Prisonball.  Wherein when a player is hit with the red rubber ball (which hurt like hell) by the opposing team, the player then goes to ‘prison’ and is out of the game. And game after game, I seemed to be the first one in prison and sometimes was the only one. Alas, even in this state of incarceration within the painted yellow chipped boundary lines, I did not gain relief from receiving violent red rubber ball pelts over and over from the cruel bullies. I would huddle against the cold cement wall protecting my head in my arms accompanied by colorful name-calling and just take it. No complaints, never told a teacher nor anyone at home. I just quietly took it. I never considered there was another way.

Day after day, I now know living in this non-feeling and unresponsive state of being, gave me the ability to cope. I was able to detach, disassociate and what I call “live somewhere above my head”. I don’t remember crying, being angry or planning any kind of retaliation. While I have many stories from the land of ‘Bullydom’, there is only one incident I can remember that elicited crying myself to sleep.

The eighth grade party. David N. was hosting an end of the year party at his house and even though by that time, I had lost weight, replaced my coke bottle glasses with contacts and could have easily been mistaken for a young fashion model, I was not, nor were a couple others of the ‘unwanted’, invited to the festive celebration. All night I truly believed that David just plain forgot to invite me and somehow my name had been mistakenly overlooked.

I lay in bed fighting sleep, as I just knew he was going to call or show up any minute to repent of his oversight and sweep me away and into the loving, waiting and remorseful arms of my classmates. And that night when my fantasy disintegrated into a painful reality I wept year’s worth of tears and the message that I wasn’t wanted, didn’t belong, wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, et al, and was seared into my little soul.

It would take blogs and blogs to write about how events like this shaped my perceptions and my character. Fortunately now there is an abundance of research and materials available providing help and information regarding bullying. Mark Dombeck, Ph.D. states, “The experience of being bullied can end up causing lasting damage to victims.” www.mentalhelp.net and a quote from www.futurity.com, “Bullying dampens academic success”.

And as many articles stating the devastating effects of bullying, now exist abundant resources offering help and guidance for its victims:”Dealing with bullies can be difficult”, states www.how-to-stop-bullying.com.  Self esteem has much to do with how to deal with a bully, empowerment being key in helping to preserve a healthy self esteem.”

I was unaware I was even being bullied and never gave it a thought to attempt to change my situation and or stand up for myself. And after years of a veritable buffet of therapies and self-help groups, the most nagging and prevalent character challenge I face today is, to ‘stay in the game’, present in my mind and body and avoid the living “somewhere above my head”. Just to feel my feet on the ground, breathe the air into my lungs and hear the sound of my own laughter sometimes requires a clear and conscious choice. It is far more familiar to sleepwalk through my days.

Now, I believe positives can always be extracted from negatives. And in regards to myself and living a life well bullied, this is my creed: I will always, always fight for the picked-on discarded underdogs that grace the school yards and walk the halls filled with the adolescent masses. I will stand up for the unsightly and unwanted that breathe the same air as the preferred and privileged.  In my book, they’re the hero’s. The ones who may cry themselves to sleep or feel rage or feel nothing or stand up or fight back.  They are the ones who all of Heaven applauds as “God is near to the broken hearted and saves those crushed in spirit”.

To you who are being bullied, please speak up, be a tattletale and don’t be afraid. You are worth helping and never, ever believe a word they say!

I sit with an elderly veteran in a wheelchair. He looks so alone. I ask him if he’s up next to receive his chemo treatment and he turns his wheelchair toward me and begins to tell me of his life, his cancer, grown kids and daily activities.

I did not ask him for these details but the phrase keeps whispering into my soul, “Everybody has a story”. So I listen at first feigning a genuine interest and then becoming genuinely interested. With my questions and comments he weaves a brief tapestry of his days, struggles and achievements.

When the nurse calls his name, he flashes me a smile and I had made a new friend.

Be it in the elevator, waiting in line, at the ball game or a visit to the dentist, everybody has a story, be it the brief or extended version. But the question is, who is willing listen? Price to pay? A little time. Payoff? Human connection and an activated soul.

With my husband now facing cancer, one that responds well to treatment but by far the most painful beyond excruciating, I am becoming aware we are not in lack of the tools we need to face this hideous beast.

Over three years ago, I thought of how fortunate we were as a family, while we had experienced heartache, had never known tragedy. Then my 17-year old nephew suffered a swimming accident leaving him quadriplegic.

It was then the changing of the guards marched from shock and grief to despair and anger. Daily, hourly and sometimes by the minute.

But something surprised me. Where I would have thought myself to hysterically collapse, I found a new ability to deal. To step up to the tasks needed without even an awareness of my own uneasiness…no small feat for one that grows squeamish at the sight of scrapes, bruises and road kill. A new and foreign strength walked with me infusing patience and endurance into my character and person.

And now, once again we are visited by an uncertain challenge that commands our attention to make ready for war. So we dress ourselves with battle fatigues sewn together from life experiences. We reach out and seize tools that have been so graciously welded for us. Tools to strengthen and give hope.

And so we have the choice: to frantically and fearfully react to the daunting drama or place our feet firm and stand in what we believe. And therein lies the war.

Fortunately I had bought and downloaded season four of the popular TV series Mad Men as I had missed it on it’s original airing. With a double click on the  ”watch now” tab,  I walked down the halls of Sterling Cooper Draper & Pryce. I fit into the slim stylish 60′s dresses, ratted my bouffant, and even smoked a couple of Lucky Strikes. I understood at a deeper level why Joan was frustrated, Don discontent and around the 10th episode I decided that all the characters needed my help. Just a little assistance with the navigation of their lives.

Let’s start with Don. Oh Don, Don, Don. So filled with talent, potential and at the core of who you are, a genuine good heart. But could you be any more lost?? The problem is, you don’t know who you are. You think you know but are so wrapped up in the appearance of who you think you are, you have abandoned yourself. Come home Don. Come  home.

Joan, you have yet to see your true value. Such a strong amazing woman but the worth you give yourself is filtered through how other men see you. Stand strong Joan. And by the way, when you turn 60 and your back hurts, I hear breast reductions are a pretty good option.

Campbell. Why are you even in this show?

Peggy. You’ve got chutzpah to be sure. Look from whence you have come! Those bangs in season one were painful to look at and seemed to dominate each scene but your new doo and sense of style, especially in this last season, are perky as all get out. Other than that I’m not really sure who you are.

Speaking of fashion. Betty. Wow. So much like my Barbie. And just about as alive as my Barbie. Woman, what is wrong with you? Were you spoiled or neglected as a child because either one has led to and entitlement and narcissism that you so accurately display. Those are your children you self indulged ho-bag! When they are grown and gone, that’s what they are. Gone. And you will be left with YOU! Wake up. There is still time to become a decent human being you skinny, self-absorbed excuse for a mother.

And finally, Roger. I think I feel the most sad over you because of the fall you are going to take sometime in the fifth season. Pride goes before a fall. Often times people make bad choices out of good motives. My friend, this is not you. While I have shared that Don is lost, I believe you are far more so. I want to you ask yourself a question before every decision you make. “Who is this ultimately benefiting?” In fact ask yourself that question with every decision you have ever made. If the name starts with an R and ends with an r, you are a sad and misguided soul. So here’s what I want you to do. For the next two weeks, do a kind act every day that does not benefit you in any way and tell no one. Write down what you did and how you felt and we’ll meet next week.

I watched on and off thirteen episodes of Mad Men in three days. They tickled my ocular orb and kept my mind occupied from the current distresses surrounding me. Feeling somewhat mentally and emotionally assaulted in my present situation, they gave me a momentary way out that helped me enter back in. Back into the grueling fight of this new and foreboding territory called cancer.

Thank you Mad Men I’m feeling much better now.

Today I wait. Perhaps for good news. Maybe for bad. I sit in the waiting room of Legacy Emmanuel Hospital as my husband undergoes exploratory surgery for the origin of a cancer he has been diagnosed with and I wait. I look at the clock, the annoying game show on TV, people with fearful and strained expressions behind laptops and newspapers, the coffee pot, the fish tank and the half written blog glaring at me.

Not knowing sucks. How much easier the journey when we know where we are going or what we will encounter along the way. Some say that’s boring and safe. Right now I say ‘please’. The problem with waiting and not knowing is with which performance is taking place at the off, off, off Broadway Theatre, Gray Matter. On this stage the mind plays from your worst imaginable fear to your granted wishes with special appearances by  Doubt and Relief.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” we often hear. I cannot even fathom to entertain that question right now. So I wait. And I wait knowing so deep in the core of who I am that there is One Greater than Myself whom I call God. And that no matter the outcome, I am not alone and will be sustained by a strength that shows up best when I am without.

I’m also listening to Credence which helps a great deal.

So, discussions ensued as to the benefits of using Botox to smooth out those ever increasing epidermoid flaps and folds. Although tentative on broaching my personal experience with said topic, I would have been remiss not to share my Botox malady.

I have worked on-camera as a spokesperson and actress for several years and the advent of Botox was for me an opportunity to spend several more years as a liar…regarding my age of course.

I injected a little here a little there, playing blissfully with this new miracle of botulism like I was six again playing with my new Chatty Kathy at Christmas. I learned you could inject the Botox just above your upper lip giving it a more plump appearance. So to gain a more youthful pillowy mouth, I injected away. ‘Hoy Matey, thar she blows’ I expressed with wild abandon as within 7 to 10 days my upper lip did indeed swell to a more youthful and zestful appearance.

The only drawback I had not anticipated was that the muscles in the top of the mouth would be frozen and as I stood facing the camera ready to shoot a commercial, I was horrified when I could not form the letters m, b or p. My first line was, “Hi, Jan Brehm here with Mason Motors (name changed) celebrating this magical time of year”.  What I was able to dribble out was, “Hi, Jan reh here with ason otors, celerating this agical ti of year.” The director at first thought I was joking but his ‘ha ha’ quickly dissipated into raw frustration as camera take after camera take, I struggled to make my lips meet. I did finagle a way to move my lower lip up to meet the upper one, an accomplishment of which I was most pleased but unfortunately gave me the appearance of gurning.

Well, you think I would have learned, but a few weeks ago in preparing to shoot another commercial for a new dealership, I thought there would be no harm in Botoxing the bottom lip… again in attempts to regain a youthful lip-luster. I was fully aware that my bottom lip might be a bit paralyzed but found only the letters; f and v might be a bit strained. To my horror as I had not anticipated what the script might possibly say, I found my last line to be,  ”Come visit us. We’re just off the I 5 freeway in Fife.” and of course what my facial orifice formed was, “Come isit us. We’re just o the I i eeway in i.”

I’m gonna cool it on the Botoxing for a while.

At least that’s what it feels like! How many reports have been unveiled in the last 20 years regarding the safety and efficacy of HRT and each time the latest reports are released they seem to be the complete opposite of the previous findings!

Who should we be listening to? Movie stars? MD’s? Naturopathic Doctors? Our mothers? There’s a guy down the street that cleans offices at night that seems to be well versed in the subject…!

After extensive findings it was reported a few years ago that HRT was safe with a low percentage of women at risk if breast cancer was in their family. A month ago HRT now seems to be the cause of cancer in women and many gals I know frantically threw out their ‘happy pills, patches and creams’. A week ago Dr. Oz comes out and says (loosely stated), ‘Now, now no need to be hasty, they really aren’t that bad for you’…! I even heard a talk show guest blanketing Estrogen on causing Lung Cancer! When questioned, she did happen to mention that she had been smoking for 30 years. But the Estrogen caused the cancer. Uh huh.

What I know first hand is they work for me. I sleep better, feel better, and my husband seems to likes me more! http://www.planetsweetpea.com/ron.html

So here, to set the record straight, from Dr. Tori Hudson, a leader in women’s health: http://www.planetsweetpea.com/news.html

So let’s lift a glass for those of us hormonally challenged and declare, “Here’s to Hormone, or not to hormone maybe next year we will have the answer!