The Apology I Made for the Thing I Didn't Say

Lydia came to dinner last night,

my elderly neighbor with

cognitive  decline.

She said she was hurt and sad

because I had said 

I didn't want her over for dinner

anymore.

Nothing could be 

further

from the truth.

Lydia is good company,

a good listener,

full of great stories.

She was crestfallen.

It must have taken a lot 

for her to tell me.

She was brave to

confront someone

who had hurt her

so badly.

"Lydia, I never said such a thing.

Never would I,"

I said.

It didn't matter. 

That was what she remembered,

no matter how many times

I told her otherwise.

It didn't matter 

whether I was right or not.

I didn't want her to think

I was a monster.

I apologized

for the thing

I didn't say.

"Lydia,

I take back what I said. 

I didn't mean it 

and 

I am sorry I hurt your feelings,"

I said.

I held her hand,

and she started to tear up.

I was forgiven, 

for something

I didn't do,

something

I didn't say.

And then 

we ate

chicken and rice.

Apple, Apple, I'm your Bitch

I've had my Apple Watch now for about a month, and I'll be damned if I am not doing what it tells me to do, like it is my boss, my master, my dom.

Today at work, it told me it was time to stand up, so I stood up. It tells me how much to exercise, how much to sleep and when to go to bed. It even knows my name, and says "Good Morning, Lauren!" It is polite and friendly and I obey.

I obey my watch, and I feel bad when I don't.

Sometimes.

Right now, I am disobeying. I should be in bed by 10:30 and I am not. I am sitting here writing a blog post instead. I feel kind of bad, but aren't I a grown up? Can't I go to bed whenever I want to?

In fairness, I programmed this watch to boss me around. It asks me how often I want to stand, and I tell it. It asked me how much I want to exercise, and I told it. It asked me when I want to go to bed and when I want to wake up. 

Is this new gadget my tech overlord, or is it helping me to stay disciplined? 

I don't know. I need to get to bed. I don't want to get a low sleep score tomorrow morning.

Red Underwear and Limoncello

Last Saturday morning at 6:15 a.m., I got a call from Claire-Adele: "I'm in Rome."

Claire-Adele was supposed to be in Bangkok this week visiting her father's family. She was scheduled to fly from New York through Qatar last Friday. The plane from NYC took off as scheduled. While she was flying, the airspace in the Middle East closed. After eleven hours in the air, the plane landed in Italy. She was even wearing her lucky red underwear, a good luck charm for safe traveling.

According to the Wall Street Journal, 264 flights were in the air on the way to the Middle East when the airspace was closed. The same article said that 10% of global air traffic goes through the Middle East. It is a major hub for flights between Europe, Asia and Africa. I guess that is why it is called the "Middle" East. 

At first when Claire-Adele told me she was wearing her lucky travel underwear, I thought "Well that didn't work." It is the opposite of good luck when your connecting flight gets diverted because of a war. 

But then, it probably was good luck. She is lucky that she wasn't waiting in the Qatar airport for her flight to Bangkok when the airspace closed. She could have been stuck on the edges of a war zone for weeks. 

Qatar airlines didn't have any information about new flights, so Claire-Adele decided to hunker down in Italy for a week, which of course is an awesome Plan B. When life gives you lemons, make limoncello.

Single Ladies

My neighbor Lydia has walked my dog twice a week for about three years. She is almost eighty years old and we live in the same condo building. She used to have an adored pup years ago, but no longer. Her walking my dog has been a blessing to her, me and, of course, Fox.

Lydia has taken a turn. Last week, we walked from our building to a coffee shop on the waterfront. She used to do this walk almost every day. When we got to the shop, she had forgotten her wallet and her phone. When we got back to the condo, she didn't have her key fob to get back into the building. 

I was terrified for her. What would have happened if I wasn't with her and she was alone? How could she have gotten back in to her home? Would she have been able to figure it out? 

I didn't think so.

If she can't remember her keys and doesn't know where her wallet is, I figured she isn't eating. Since then, I've been bringing her breakfast and inviting her over for dinner. Food seems to be the best medication -- she seems more alert now she's getting at least two meals a day.

The scary thing for me is watching someone navigate aging alone. Lydia has never been married and doesn't have kids. She has had a wonderful and exciting life as a single woman. She did it right. She is strong, smart and brave. And yet, she struggles.

I worry about myself, what will happen to me as I age alone? I have kids, but they don't live in the same state, just like I moved away from my family. Am I looking into a crystal ball, seeing my own future? 

My friend Jamie works with seniors, and she said reminded me that even with married couples, men die first and women are left to navigate the aging alone. Even if I was married or partnered, I will likely age alone.

The happy side of the Lydia story is that she is happy. She is content. She smiles and laughs and tells her stories.

Maybe aging has its upsides?

Apple Watch

I’ve always thought Apple Watches were stupid and ugly.

I thought they were for young, tech savvy hipsters who loved the latest gadgets. I had a coworker who was an early adapter for the Apple Watch, being all Dick Tracy and seeing how far away she could get from her phone and still get text messages and phone calls. 

No thank you. If I am far from my phone, I don’t want to get a call or a text. I don’t want to be that connected.

There is a second demographic of Apple Watch users that I now find myself becoming: Geriatric people who want to track every heartbeat and breath, who want to track their sleep and cardiac output. My dad and my aunt--two of my favorite people—wear an Apple Watch to monitor their health statistics.

Yeah, this is me. 

Ugh. 

I like watches. My engagement present from my ex was a fancy watch instead of a diamond ring. I loved this watch until I signed my divorce paperwork. Then, I couldn’t wear it anymore without wanting to barf. I found a beautiful watch made of white ceramic—the same type of industrial ceramic used to make tiles on the space shuttle. I have another watch with a mother of pearl face and simple leather strap.

Why would I want a black glass square that shows fingerprints on my wrist? Why?

Because monitoring my health is more important than beauty. Oh god…is this the meaning of aging? Giving up the ego of beautiful things to focus on preservation? Have I crossed into a new realm?

I ordered the “prettiest” Apple Watch I could find. I am going to wear this thing 24/7 and I want it to look good and be comfortable. It cost an arm and a leg, but I didn’t care. Actually, I did care. I cared a lot and was annoyed I was spending this much money on something I am expecting to hate. So I justified getting the coolest one so I can hate it less? There is a flaw in logic here which I overcame by throwing money at the problem.

I am hoping I don’t hate this new watch, but this one device is supposed to do too much. How can a sleep monitor be something cool that I want to wear to work and out with friends? I want something elegant that I can also wear while doing the dishes. My engagement present was great in that regard, but I never wore it to bed. It was too clunky to sleep with.

The watch will be delivered soon. I’ll keep you posted.