Marital Negotiations

I left my first marriage without much in the way of cash resources so it took a few years in a rental condo before I had saved enough to buy a home.  I will never forget the day I first saw the house that was soon going to be mine.  A friend who was also recently divorced called to tell me about a house he had seen.  It wasn't for him but he thought I might like it.  He was right.

I was home with an awful flu but I dragged myself out of bed for an hour to tour the house.  I instantly fell in love.  A few weeks later the place was mine.

The house was a Craftsman style bungalow,  in a great family neighborhood.  The kitchen was recently remodeled and was bright and sunny.  The hardwood floors gleamed!  It had built in bookcases, a fireplace and (best of all) a great front porch.  Did I mention that I fell in love with the place?

I cannot adequately describe the emotions I felt about that house.  Just buying new towels for the bathroom was like bringing home a gift for a lover.  Writing about that house still makes my heart race.

When I got married, I moved into my husband's house.  His was the grander of our homes, so it made sense.  Giving up my bungalow was incredibly difficult, but I was able to sell it to a nice young couple, which helped soothe me.  But I never, ever stopped loving my bungalow.

Fast forward seven years.  My husband Joe is retired and I plan to retire soon.  We don't need a huge home with four bedrooms, 15 acres, and a pond.  The term "downsize" appears often in our conversations.

I recently learned that my bungalow is back on the market.  It is the perfect place to downsize.  At first Joe agreed, but lately he has had a change of heart.  He is just as emotionally attached to his home as I am to mine.  Tonight I agreed to walk away from my bungalow.  But I am really having a hard time with that decision.

 Joe's house is just that - Joe's house.  My house is just that - my house.  Joe's house feels like a responsibility.  My house feels like a gift.

Now what do I do?

Cranky is the New Black

Here is the absolute truth.....I am 61 years old.  Here is another absolute, 100%  truth.....I don't want to be 61 years old. I may have reached my golden years, but I arrived here kicking and screaming.

 I do everything possible to pretend that I am still in my 40's.  I exercise like mad, eat well, dress fashionably, and embrace activities that prove I am still young.  I wear hip hugger jeans, stiletto heels, pencil skirts and keep my weight under 120.  It costs lots of time and money to maintain my perfect ash blonde streaks.  I think I look pretty damn hot, if I do say so myself.

I'm in denial.  I admit it.  The truth is..... I'm getting old, whether I like it or not.

I'm doing my best to embrace this phase of my life.  I love the wisdom I have and the financial stability I have achieved.  I have 15 of the most wonderful grandchildren. (They all call me "Becky".  No "grandma" for me - that sounded too damn old!) No matter what anyone says about the golden years, there is lots about aging that just plain awful!

I knew about wrinkles and grey hair but there are many other signs of aging that I never expected. Did your mother tell you that your nose hair would undertake a growth spurt around the time you turned 60?  I think not!  My mom also failed to mention that my knees were going to get all wrinkly.  How about moisture?  One day you are as juicy as can be and the next day you are as dry as an autumn leaf.

I am not prepared for this!  It's enough to make a woman cranky!