In recent years, we have all become conscious of the hidden army of people known as ‘carers’ (‘caregivers’ in the US).

These are the people who look after a frail (or confused) family member or friend. They may be daughters (or sons) looking after an elderly parent or, perhaps, a sibling. Or they may be spouses looking after one another.

Parents of disabled children are also described in this light. These are frequently older women, but they can be of any age or either gender. Even children under 18 sometimes find themselves in this role.

You may well know someone in this circumstance, or it may be you. We all feel for them, as caregiving is a difficult situation. It can take over one’s entire life, especially if the carer is living with the person they care for and get little respite.

The Carer I Knew Best

I became aware of the existence of carers when I was relatively young, because my husband’s favourite aunt was one. She had found herself in the traditional role (in England) of the youngest daughter who never married but stayed home to look after her increasingly frail mother.

She was not relieved of those responsibilities until her mother died, when she was already in her late 40s and rather worn down.

In her case, perhaps unusually, she blossomed soon after. She married a very nice older widower and began to substitute regular visits to church to equally regular visits to the pub.

They moved to a new house and she had a good life for many years until he suffered a stroke and she became a carer all over again.

Semi-Carers

But there is another category of people who are not the principal carer and so are almost completely overlooked – namely, what I would call ‘semi-’ or ‘supplementary’ carers. These are an even larger group of people whose lives are affected by someone who is physically or mentally ill or disabled.

Despite my familiarity with the pressures of being a principal carer, it never occurred to me that many other people can also be caught up in the web created by illness and disability.

This awakening came when my daughter-in-law was diagnosed with cancer not long after her baby son was born. (I hasten to say she is fine now.)

Of course, my son had to take on all sorts of responsibilities not normally expected of a young husband and father. But so, too, did many other family members.

My husband and I became very active baby-sitters and general helpers-out. We set up our house with all the accoutrements of babyhood – baby bed, highchair, baby clothes and so forth, so that he could come to us on short notice.

It was tiring and affected all sorts of decisions, such as whether to travel far from home. When I mentioned it to my doctor, he said immediately, “Yes, cancer affects the whole family – that is well known.”

In retrospect, it was not difficult to provide the help that we did, but it was difficult never knowing when we could be needed. Whatever our plans for the day, a phone call could arrive at any time asking us to come now. Your own life gets put slightly ’on hold’.

Indeed, I am not asking for sympathy, as being required to help to look after a small baby is a mixed blessing. Yes, it put pressures on us that had not existed before, but it also brought the pleasures of caring for a baby again. And it made us much closer to that grandchild, which has lasted over the years.

The Wide Impact of Illness

But my experience made me stop and think about how many people are so affected. Not simply by cancer, but by any form of long-lasting illness or disability.

Perhaps there is a need to provide food for a family, where the mother can no longer cook, or take on the role of driving the ill person to hospital appointments.

There can be a need to keep the household going in all sorts of ways, such as general provisioning or sorting out bills. Not to mention helping with the children, including the simple problem of getting them to school.

There is no ‘system’ to sort out these issues. Some countries provide more state help than others, such as paid carers who come in to help with washing and dressing. But when you remove one person from the equation of running a family, you immediately set up needs for all kinds of help.

Older Women

In these situations, there are always some family members (or friends) who are more willing to step in to help than others. Indeed, it is common for people to assume that where someone competent is on the case, there is no need to offer more help.

This, of course, puts more pressure on those who are willing to help and can be the source of considerable family tensions.

And it is often we, older women, who find ourselves doing what we can. Perhaps it is because we have more time and fewer responsibilities of our own, especially if our children are grown up and we are no longer working.

But what starts as ‘just helping out a bit’ can easily escalate into doing more and more. And we do have other things we want to do.

Does this all sound familiar? If you had such a request, are you someone who says, “Yes, of course,” without even thinking about it? These are fundamental issues, concerning how we feel about ourselves and our role in our families.

Semi-carers are not put upon in heavy ways. It is just normal, day-to-day activities that need to be factored into whatever plans there were before.

I would not go so far as to say they deserve some form of recognition, but if you have friends in this circumstance, I would urge you to acknowledge their contribution.

This was first published on sixtyandme.com (see https://sixtyandme.com/celebrating-the-important-role-of-semi-caregivers/)

By the time you are in your mid-70s and there has been no major health crisis, you know you have been lucky. If you have a spouse (or partner) and ‘you’ means both of you, you know you have been doubly lucky.

Now aged 79 and my husband aged 80, I have been saying to friends for a few years that we can reasonably expect a metaphorical block of concrete to fall on our heads at any time. No certainty of when or where, but it is definitely getting more possible.

Cancer? Heart attack? A nasty fall? Or, worse, some form of dementia?

Our Own Form of Bad Luck

And then that block did fall.

A few weeks ago, on Easter Friday evening, we were chatting about nothing in particular when my husband said that his eyes were blurry. It had just happened, there were no other symptoms, but it didn’t feel right.

Phone calls to a medical helpline and to an optometrist friend both elicited the suggestion he should get to an eye doctor. Both suggested a particular eye hospital, but neither hinted of any emergency.

The following day, Easter Saturday, not much was open. Even in the great metropolis that is London. Not our own GP surgery. Not the recommended eye hospital. The local optician had no appointments, but there was no eye doctor there in any case.

In brief, we went early to the best-known eye hospital in London, where a perceptive doctor feared it might be a stroke. To my eternal gratitude, with persistence, he obtained a referral to an excellent stroke unit in a convenient hospital.

We learned then that my husband had had a haemorrhagic stroke, resulting in an eye condition called a homonymous hemianopia (hemianopsia in the US). Difficult to spell h’s seemed to be part of the condition.

He stayed in the hospital for two nights (it should have been more, but he managed to talk himself home on the grounds that he would recover quicker with good sleep and good food – and perhaps they needed the bed).

Aftercare

The aftercare from the National Health Service (NHS) was brilliant. The day after my husband arrived home, an occupational therapist visited him at home to assess his needs and provide advice.

The stroke doctor phoned twice within the first two weeks, a senior stroke nurse phoned once to provide a helpline number and the senior doctor from the eye hospital also phoned to say they would be in touch when his eyes had settled down.

As for the patient, he was left very tired and with no disability except to his eyes. Indeed, after a few days, it was clear that he could read a newspaper slowly, go for walks and do most things. He could watch television, but with occasional difficulty (for instance, at times he couldn’t see the football in a televised match, depending on the camera angle).

But he is an avid reader, and it is likely he will be unable to read books because the slow reading means he cannot absorb the rhythm and meaning of such prose. Yes, there are audio books, but they are not the same at all.

Reaction to Misfortune

But all of the above is a preamble to what I most wanted to write about, namely our reaction to the situation, particularly my own. You never know until it happens.

OK, a block of concrete had fallen. Yes, this was likely to change the texture of my husband’s life and therefore my own. It could, indeed, shorten his life span. We were told his eyesight might improve, but it was not likely to.

Many people become frustrated and angry in this kind of situation and I was, indeed, warned that he might undergo a personality change. That was the most terrifying suggestion of the whole experience.

But he is a calm and patient man and has never expressed any frustration at all. “It is what it is,” he says, “I will learn to deal with it.” He has a wicked sense of humour and it has not disappeared, thank goodness.

I went into a period of suspended emotion – not cross, not relieved, just holding in there. Part of me certainly wanted to fall apart. To rant that this had happened and was in some way unfair. Only I knew it wasn’t ‘unfair’ because fairness has nothing to do with these events.

And my strongest reaction was that he – and therefore I – had been lucky. He could have been permanently disabled. He could have lost his speech. He could have died. But all he had was a loss of some sight.

He had got off lightly, dodged the bullet, take your metaphor of choice.

At some point, roughly two weeks after the event, I did break down and have a short but powerful weep following an exploration of whether this shortened his expected life span. A terrifying chasm opened up just briefly – enough to peer over the edge – and then closed again.

I think the psyche knows exactly how much pain you can take ­­– and when – and doles it out appropriately. I went back to a sense of calm.

The Man Down the Road

I think it is quite a common reaction to disasters of whatever kind to decide that you have essentially been lucky, that there is someone worse off than you.

Years ago, my husband’s late aunt, then widowed and in her late 70s, was flooded out of her much-loved bungalow by a major flood in North Wales.

Because of sanitation issues, she was required to live in a caravan next to her house for months while the authorities slowly cleaned up the numerous houses similarly affected. It was cramped, there were limited cooking and washing facilities and was clearly not the way she wanted to live.

Did she complain?

No, she told us she felt sorry for the man down the road, who was in the same situation but with a heart condition. “It must be really hard for him,” she noted.

I thought then – and I still think now – that there is always ‘a man down the road’. Someone worse off. Makes us appreciate what we have.

The Future

We will continue to wait to see if there is improvement. We will wait to see what resources are available for the condition.

And, in the meantime, that block of concrete can still come – cancer, heart attack, a nasty fall, or, worse, some form of dementia.

You just never know.

It is a common practice to divide the world into two types of people. Extroverts and introverts. Meat eaters and vegetarians. In England, Marmite lovers and haters. My distinction for today is between those who love to laze around and do nothing and those who are happiest when they are doing something useful. Popular culture would have us believe that the former is the norm, that we are all waiting for the summer holidays so that we can lie on a beach. Anything connected to ‘work’ is to be avoided as much as possible.

I am not so sure. I know a lot of the latter type of people. And I am certainly one of them.

Being Useful

I have always been driven by the desire to be doing something – and, preferably, something of value to someone.  Doing nothing can certainly be pleasurable for a while. But its main use is to ensure that your brain or body is well rested, so that you will be firing on all cylinders when you return to purposeful activity. It is not an end in itself.

There are, of course, a myriad of ways to be ‘useful’. You may be a carer (caretaker) for someone and need to engage in a whole range of activities to meet their needs. You may like building things from scratch or taking them apart in order to understand them. You may simply want to get things done around the house – clean out that cupboard or make those new curtains.

Alternatively, like me, you may like to engage in creative activity, whether writing books or painting pictures or inventing new recipes in the kitchen. And much, much more.

You may or may not do these things well. You may or may not be satisfied with the result. But the key point is that the activity is important to you and helps you to feel that your time was well spent. You would rather do them than laze around.

Nature or Nurture

What makes us so clearly one way or the other? I was brought up by a mother with a ferocious work ethic. She was in any case unusual in having worked in a professional job while bringing up three children in the 1940s and ‘50s (no surprise now, but then it was distinctly unusual).

She was not keen on ‘relaxation’, although she would read at times and, in the summer, liked to weed her garden for this purpose. Perhaps I get it from her.

If we are in any way moulded by our schooling, then that, too, pushed in the same direction. I went to a very academic girls’ private school in New York City, whose motto was ‘in truth and toil’ and whose mascot was a beaver. Do you detect a strong work ethic here? Perhaps hard work was imprinted onto my brain by a daily dose of ‘toil’.

But I do wonder. If I had been born with a penchant for taking it easy, I might have rebelled heavily against such influences. As I watched my two very different children grow into adults, I increasingly questioned the impact of nurture in comparison to nature.

I think we come out of the womb with a lot of characteristics that we spend a lifetime discovering. But they were there, just as much as the tilt of our nose or the colour of our hair.

Getting Tired

But returning to the matter at hand, one sad discovery about growing older is that we tend to get tired more easily. We lose the resilience we had when younger and our batteries run down faster and faster.

This starts at different ages for different people but seems to creep up on us when we are not looking. As far as I can see, it increases slowly each year and greatly diminishes our energy for getting things done.

For those of us with an eagerness to be engaged in positive activity, this lack of energy is incredibly annoying. It means we cannot work for long periods without becoming tired. And the definition of that ‘long period’ slowly shortens from a day to half a day to even an hour.

Your body becomes a battleground – your head wants to get something done, but your body rebels. That old saying, “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,” comes into play.

At the end of a day, you find yourself disappointed with the paltry amount accomplished. You had such great plans, but you got little or nothing done.

It is not so different from the lockdowns we have suffered in the UK and others have done elsewhere. They are a kind of imprisonment where we cannot do what we want, what one grandson called ‘a kind of house arrest’.

A lack of energy is exactly the same

We’re all a bit scared right now. Indeed, if we aren’t, we should be. The tentacles of Covid-19 are everywhere and getting worse. And we are warned that health systems are under serious strain.

In England, where the new, more contagious strain has begun to predominate, the problems are doubtless magnified. We are told that in some areas, ambulances are piled up outside hospitals, because there is no room inside.

You wear a mask, you wash your hands frequently, and you do your best to avoid other people in shops or even walking down the street. Whatever happens, you know you don’t want any emergency to happen right now requiring hospital care.

But what if it does?

Seriously High Blood Pressure

My blood pressure, like that of so many older people, has been rising little by little over the years. Every time I attend my local health practice, they tend to check it and remark it is on the high side, but no need for action yet.

About a week ago, it had risen again, and I was advised to take a reading every day at home to see how it was doing. I bought a monitor and was duly taking readings twice a day and noting them down.

Then one late afternoon, the reading was higher than normal – just after a series of relatively trivial irritations.

My broadband connection was down, I had phoned my provider and struggled with its automatic answering system. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t find these irritating, but the bottom line came when the voice told me my mother’s maiden name was wrong. I swore at the phone and hung up.

And Rising Still

Taking my blood pressure shortly after, I noted the reading was considerably higher than normal, but went to have dinner. Afterwards, I thought I would just check that it had gone down, to assure myself. It hadn’t – it had gone up! According to the chart, it was at a dangerous level.

What to do? My husband exclaimed that I should in no circumstance go to the local hospital, because of fear of my catching Covid. I rang my most knowledgeable family member, and she said I absolutely needed to be in a hospital – the reading was that serious. I could have a heart attack or a stroke.

Even More Tribulations

I phoned 999 (the emergency number), where I was asked some questions and then told no ambulance was available for four hours! I should get myself to the hospital by taxi, but first I should ring 111, the number for medical advice.

That number said there was no one available to take my call and I should go online. But I couldn’t. My internet connection was down.

I felt completely helpless.

Situations like what I experienced make you realise how stranded people are when there is no way to get to help.

I decided I had to be brave. We phoned a taxi and, with great trepidation, got me to the hospital.

The Hospital

This is a good London hospital. I have been there numerous times and even had my second child there. But it looked bleak at 9 pm. A lady at the entrance to Accident and Emergency asked what the issue was – and they wheeled me in.

From that point on, they were marvellous. Of course, they immediately checked my blood pressure, and it was even higher, dangerously so. They then did an ECG. The nurse said they were more worried about a stroke Than a heart attack. Not good news, in my view.

I was looked after by two or three nurses, coming in and out as needed, plus a doctor. There was no sign of any people with Covid, as Covid patients turned out to be in a completely different area. The nurses wore masks and gloves of course, but no PPE. Indeed, it was very calm, like any emergency room after hours.

They immediately gave me medication to lower the blood pressure, tested my blood and urine, and monitored me for roughly two hours. The readings were duly going down. There were no other signs to worry them, and I was allowed to go home at 11 pm.

Just before I left, I asked the doctor what had happened. He said that he thought it was most likely an example of a vicious circle: my blood pressure went up, so it worried me, so it went up further and so forth. He did not think it was serious, but advised me not to take my blood pressure when I got home!

After Thoughts

I was glad I had gone, and my doctor confirmed the next day that I had done the right thing. But I can’t say I wasn’t scared.

And I am hugely grateful to that family member who insisted I go.

Four days later, my blood pressure is already coming down. But I am not keen to phone my broadband provider again.

This post was initially published by SixtyandMe.com (see https://sixtyandme.com/hospital-visit/)

It is a well-known fact that we begin to lose our memories as we age. I’m not talking about serious conditions like dementia, but just day-to-day problems of bringing something to mind. Much of it isn’t too important, but occasionally it is.

Conversations with No Helpful Details

My conversations with my husband often go something like this:

“I saw that nice guy just now in the supermarket and said hello.”

“What guy?”

“You know, the one we met last summer on a boat – he was tall and very nice. Had a wife with red hair and I think there was a small dog.”

“Oh, yes, that guy. He was very nice. Are they living near here now?”

Or

“Shall we go see that film that is on down the road?”

“What film?”

“You know, the one that was made by the same guy as that terrific film that had really good American actress in it. We really liked it.”

“Oh, yes, good idea. What time is it on?”

How many conversations take place among older couples that sound something like that? Never a name in sight – or any that really help. Anyone from outside would be really baffled. Yet we often know what we are talking about.

These conversations can be annoying, as we don’t always get the connection we want. They can, of course, go on a lot longer, but you get the idea.

But they are not the real problem.

Remembering the Vital Details

What really bothers me is when I can’t remember the really important facts that I should have at my fingertips. I am not talking about who was President in 1953 or what is the capital of Switzerland.

No, it is all those little personal facts that you ought to remember – but can’t. It can get you into trouble if you aren’t careful.

When we were younger, our friends had husbands and children and you could generally remember their names. You met them, after all, and knew something about them. You could picture them in your mind.

How Are the Grandchildren?

But now they have grandchildren who you’ve never met. They’ve talked loads about them, of course, but your memory isn’t what it was, and you lack the visual framework.

It is so hard to keep up. How many did they have? From which children? And wasn’t there one with a problem, but which one and what was the issue?

You meet for the occasional chat and try to re-make contact. Didn’t this friend have a daughter with twin boys? Or was that someone else? Were they born a long time ago or are they still small? Time goes so fast they are probably older than you think.

Well, you can usually find a way of saying “I’m sorry, but I can’t remember the names of your grandchildren,” which gives leeway for age, sex, and number. And which child had what children when. Sorting that out will get you back on track.

How Are the Children?

But it gets harder, especially about those near and dear to them. Take their grownup children, whose lives you have heard a lot about over the years. You haven’t seen them for ages or, perhaps, ever.

You have a vague memory that there was some problem in the past that you were told about. Was there a son with a messy marital problem – did they get divorced or sort it out? Or was it the daughter? You should know, but it has completely gone from your head.

Or was it a work problem? Did they get fired or made redundant? Little details can be very important. It looks thoughtless to have forgotten.

Perhaps you can get by with “How is that son of yours getting on?” and hope that covers all contingencies. With luck, you won’t have to reveal your forgetfulness.

The Parents

But then comes the killer. You are friends with an older couple who you don’t see often, and you cannot for the life of you remember whose parents are still alive.

You can’t say “How’s your father doing?” if he died two years ago in difficult circumstances. But you don’t want to offer condolences if the man is in rude health.

Two people means four parents. Oh dear. And this does matter to them. It’s not like the names of their grandchildren.

This happens more often than I like. I’ve never found a good solution, aside from keeping the conversation going long enough and hoping it comes up naturally. Sometimes, a friend will say, “After my father died….” And I breathe a big sigh of relief.

What Seems Like a Good Solution

One should probably keep a notebook for all such information – little lists of children, grandchildren, and what they are all up to. And – definitely – the deaths of parents. It would make conversations a whole lot easier.

But, if it is any consolation, remember there is a good chance that your friends have the same problem as you do.

When my son, now in his late 30s, was about five years old, he made a remark that has stayed with me ever since. He had gone through a stage, thankfully brief, when he would pee unexpectedly, leaving a small visible stain on his trousers.

I asked him, I suspect with some exasperation, couldn’t he tell when it was coming? “No, Mum,” he said, “it is kind of like an ambush.”

He hit the nail on the head. Our bodies do ambush us all the time – from childhood right on up. We don’t see it coming.

The Struggle with Our Bodies

It starts as early as any of us can remember – we ran too fast on a pavement, we climbed that tree and, all of a sudden, we found ourselves on the ground and in pain.

From small scrapes to broken limbs, we learned early on that our bodies could be a nuisance and did not behave as we had planned.

Not to mention the many childhood diseases. I got absolutely all of them – measles, German measles, even Scarlet Fever, which was very serious in those days. I have a number of chicken pox scars to remind me of that particular bout.

And, of course, numerous colds and flus that came and went, as I mixed with other children at school.

Our teens and beyond brought an even bigger ambush – the menstrual period. It arrived when we least wanted it and, for some of us, on no particular schedule. We waited for it to come and, at some point, worried when it did not. Or, we wanted children and worried when it did.

We have all spent some hours over the course of our lives thinking about what was or was not happening down there. With no control.

Older Bodies

Of course, as we grew older, we were subject to large numbers of potential illnesses. Many of us have been through one or another life-threatening disease and many of us have lost friends through this route.

I lost a good friend to one of the worse scourges of our time, HIV/AIDS and, with his help, wrote a book about people living with AIDS and HIV.

And things only get worse as we age. “Old age is not for sissies,” they say, and they are right. Our bodies ambush us in one way after another.

The older we become, the more prone we are to serious illnesses that stop us in our tracks. We cannot hear or see as well as we used to, we can no longer run as fast as we would like, if we can run at all. And even the problem my then five-year-old son experienced rears its annoying head.

Some of us, although presumably not those reading here, lose our minds, bit by bit, to one kind of dementia or another. This is an ambush like no other – not part of anyone’s life plan.

Attitudes

How do you feel about all these events taking place within your own body? Do you quietly accept that this is part of being human and we should struggle through with dignity? Do you feel it is part of God’s plan?

Or do you, like me, rail against them? I have been amazingly healthy all my adult life, as was my father. And, like him, I get enormously angry when my body lets me down. How dare it not do what I want it to? Who gave it permission to succumb to a cold or flu or worse?

Yes, I know this makes no sense. I should accept each challenge as it arises. It is part of life’s rich tapestry. You are doubtless made of stronger stuff.

My husband says I will be indignant on my death bed – and it may well be true. I will let you know.

This was first published with a different title by sixtyandme.com (http://sixtyandme.com/coping-with-our-60-plus-year-old-bodies-is-it-even-possible/)

Do you like to swim? Do you really like it, or do you just do it because you know it is good for you? I am in the latter category. I find it a kind of work.

Keen Swimmers

I know there are many avid swimmers. They’re in the pool or the sea every morning – and sometimes again in the afternoon.

A friend who is 93 swims every morning without fail. A colleague of my husband, now age 71, who recently had a knee and hip replacement at the same time, says she is to be found in her local pool at 6 a.m. every day.

I have nothing but admiration for these people.

Dutiful Swimmers

I am more of a dutiful swimmer. I know it is good for me, but I find it hard to get enthusiastic about. I manage roughly once a week and tend to think I should do more.

Ever since my nearby pool closed, and I must travel a distance of 15- to 20-minute walk to get there, I find it even harder to get motivated. I know other people make much longer journeys, so I shouldn’t complain.

There are loads of things I don’t like about swimming. I hate all the fuss with clothes off and then on again. I have never been very good at drying myself and therefore tend to end up with slightly damp clothing for the rest of the day.

There is something rather boring about swimming up and down a lane, although it is sometimes made a bit more challenging by someone swimming too fast in the slow lane or too slow in the medium one.

I try to count the laps and sometimes skip ahead by accident and then don’t know where I am. Nothing very serious – just dull.

Playful Swimmers

Of course, there are also playful swimmers, although not many in public pools, aside from some parents with their children.

My father, who thrived on fun, used to take the family swimming, and his main aim was to set up water fights. He had a very good method of squirting water up with his fingers so that it got you on your head. For him, it was what swimming was all about.

Unfortunately, when he moved to a continuing care community in his later years, he found that his fellow swimmers were not very enthusiastic about such antics. He said he couldn’t bear to swim laps and never lasted very long in the water.

Swimming Feels Good

For me, the main point of swimming is that I feel good afterwards. You go to all the trouble of getting there and changing clothes and swimming, but yes, you do feel a whole lot better.

You also meet people. I have had many conversations in changing rooms that might lead to new friendships. You just never know.

One time I even saw a life guard in action. I was swimming along with my thoughts far away, when I realised that there had been a loud splash and felt – almost immediately – something moving very fast underneath me, like a very large fish.

I was very disconcerted until I realised it was a life guard rescuing someone in trouble. The deftness, speed and accuracy of the man was impressive.

Swimming and Thinking

But the best part of swimming for me is that it releases ideas into my brain that I never seem to get elsewhere, aside from a bath or shower. I thought I read once that being in water is good for the brain, but some quick investigation on the net has elicited no such research.

Yet I have had many new ideas for projects or how to phrase a difficult concept or even books I might write, while swimming.

Because I have a terrible memory, I used to carry a little notebook with me, so that I could write such thoughts down as soon as I emerged from the water. Unfortunately, that was not a success as the notebook became too sodden.

I now try to remember my new thoughts until I get home.

This was originally published by Sixtyandme.com (see http://sixtyandme.com/how-swimming-can-be-a-great-activity-for-women-over-60/)

Have you ever thought of trying yoga? Perhaps your daughter does it, but you think you are too old. Perhaps you feel it requires you to look like the young and supple woman in this picture.

Think again. People of all shapes, sizes and ages can do yoga. It is not a matter of donning a leotard and aiming to look beautiful. No, it is a matter of using your body to gain improved strength and flexibility. And, just as important, feeling better.

And you will probably never be asked to do anything resembling this pose. Or, if you are really enthusiastic and practise frequently, who knows, you might move in that direction. But I have never gotten there.

Yoga and exercise

Years ago, when I thought I should be doing more exercise to keep fit, several friends suggested I try yoga. When I asked what happened there, I was told you went into odd poses and held them for awhile. This seemed a rather bizarre thing to do – and certainly appeared to have little to do with exercise. I did not pursue it at that time.

Well, how wrong could I be! Some yoga does involve a lot of movement and feels very much like an exercise class. The type I eventually went for is slow and purposeful, but my goodness, you do get your muscles exercised! You need to learn to separate being visibly active from being equally – but less visibly – so.

There is no question that yoga is a form of exercise. The strange postures are there for a purpose – to use all your muscles, both external and internal. You know that if you simply stretch your arms with all your might toward the ceiling, something inside begins to say ‘hello’. Yoga takes this many steps further by working your system all over.

The wider impact

The result is both subtle and profound. You will slowly begin to feel more supple (or ‘bendy’ as one friend put it). All sorts of day-to-day movements will become easier, which is both pleasing and practical. You may find your balance is better.

Indeed, you might well find yourself healthier, less prone to colds or other diseases, as your circulation improves. The yoga postures work on all your internal systems, so that they work better. And your breathing may be easier. Some say sleep improves.

But yoga is also much more than exercise. It puts you in touch with your own body – wakes it up and gives it a good shake – making you feel more in tune with its ways. You will rediscover the joys of actively using your body, rather than seeing it as something you carry around without thinking much about it.

Yoga has the effect of being both energising and relaxing at the same time. It requires so much concentration that you forget the things that are worrying you and feel much more refreshed as a result. The challenges it offers – little hills to climb one by one – create a sense of achievement, especially important as you age. You may even like yourself more as a result.

Getting started

We all know we should be doing more exercise of any kind, but it is definitely hard to get started. My husband found the best way to ensure he exercised was to put the ball, perhaps surprisingly, in my court. He now complains if I don’t nag him enough.

I started yoga because I had back problems. I had gone to an osteopath, whose ministrations would work for awhile, but then wear off after a week or two. She encouraged me to try yoga to get my body stronger, so that any changes she produced might last longer. The result was I got so much stronger, I didn’t need the osteopath anymore!

You may need a little push – or pull ­– of some kind. Talk to friends who do it and see if their enthusiasm gives you that added spur. And make it convenient. Having local classes can be a help. If not, there are some online courses – indeed, I know of one yoga programme that is specifically tailored for older people who have not done yoga before.

Go on, have a try. What do you have to lose?

I want to tell you about my day today. No, it wasn’t a bad day, the sort of day that we often want to talk about, when everything goes wrong. It was a good day, of the sort we much too often take for granted.

Here are a few tips for celebrating the simple things in life.

Getting a Good Night’s Sleep

This good day started with a good night’s sleep – not something I am able to achieve very often. We older women tend to complain to each other about our difficulties in getting to sleep – or the long hours in the early morning when we were awake. But a good night’s sleep, as we all know, is wonderful. You feel so completely refreshed.

Enjoying a Glorious Day

But the special thing was that it was a glorious day – sunny, blue skies, warm, but not too hot, with a gentle breeze.

It was the sort of day that makes people smile as they walk down the street. I went out for some errands and chatted to a neighbour, in part about the day and in part about the good things in our lives. She told me how she loved being retired, doing nothing, whereas I talked about how I love writing my books . We smiled together about how everybody is different!

I mentioned that I felt we took the good things a bit too much for granted.

Sharing with Grandchildren

But my ruminations on this issue had started two days ago. I had been walking down the street with my seven-year-old grandson, taking him to a doctor’s appointment. We had crossed a busy street and had held hands for the purpose, but he didn’t let go.

We walked for ages with his little hand in my bigger one, talking about whatever was on his mind. And I suddenly thought what a wonderful simple pleasure that is. That trusting child, feeling safe in your hands. What more can you ask?

And there are, of course, so many more joys associated with children. Watching an active toddler finally sleeping, watching a child of any age begin to understand something they had not understood before. We, as adults, can only sit back and marvel.

Eating Simple Food

And then there was lunch – for me, some tomatoes, cheese, good bread and a bit of yogurt flavoured with turmeric. Nothing fancy, but nonetheless fresh, healthy and delicious. And I then made some brownies, as my husband had asked for them. Now, there is a combination of ingredients that can hardly be bettered. And they came out well.

Appreciating Timeless Pleasures

The simple pleasures of a beautiful day, a trusting child, even food, have been the subject of many a poem, essay or other form of commentary, probably from the year dot.

But does it take getting older to really appreciate these pleasures? When you are younger, you are much more likely to rush. Yes, you say, it is a lovely day and then you rush on to your appointment or to collect your child from school or whatever it is that fills your time. You don’t really stop and just feel the moment.

You know you should, but on the whole, you don’t.

We can.

Visiting a Friend

And toward the end of the afternoon, I went to visit a friend in hospital. Like me, she does her best to keep herself fit, but she had the bad luck to have fallen and broken her femur. She had had surgery, loads of pain, pain killers, side effects from the medication and so forth. She smiled bravely, but it was clear she was not certain when she would get back to normal.

I walked back from the hospital, as the sun was low but still bright and buildings were glowing – my son calls this “the golden hour,” a new phrase to me – and realised I had missed the most important thing of all.

Simply being able to walk.

I sometimes think we need a wake-up call to appreciate the ordinary things in life.

This post was originally published by SixtyandMe: http://sixtyandme.com/6-ways-to-celebrate-the-simple-things-in-life/ and should not be re-blogged

Some years ago, I was taken to a hospice by a friend, who happened to be doing an errand. I immediately felt that this was the kind of tranquil place where I wanted to spend time. Soon after, I began to volunteer at a local hospice every Saturday afternoon. I did so for four years.

This experience had a strong impact on me, lasting even to the present day. Death – as with birth – is a very special time and I felt privileged to help people, even in small ways, in their last days.

As I was a writer, I thought the views and experiences of hospice staff would make a fascinating book. I had developed a technique, based on the kind of research I did for a living, of creating books formed around the direct views of people acquired by long and intimate interviews. Like a television documentary, it allows people to talk directly to the reader.

I undertook 31 interviews in two hospices with a whole range of staff – nurses, doctors, chaplains, managers and even a very reflective cook. They talked about the many ways in which they tried to make patients’ last days peaceful and meaningful, about the impact of such work on their own lives and, most importantly, about what they gained personally from such work. Like myself, they often used the word ‘privileged’ for being with people at the end of their lives.

The resulting book, Life in a Hospice, was, in my humble view, the best I had ever written – and I anticipated that many people would be keen to read it. It was very well reviewed, there was an article in the Times newspaper about it and it was even Highly Commended by the British Medical Association, despite not being a ‘medical’ book at all. All this was hugely pleasing.

But, alas, the breadth of the readership was very disappointing. The book was bought by many hospices and others working in end of life care, but it never took off with the general public. I quickly realized there were two reasons. First, most people do not have my fascination with end-of-life care and, indeed, avoid thinking about anything to do with death. And, second, the book was much too expensive, the price having been set by its medical publisher

I couldn’t do anything to overcome the first problem, but I took back the rights to the book and re-launched it as a very inexpensive e-book ($3.75), so that anyone who wants to read it will not be deterred by the price. It is again receiving some good reviews on Amazon. I must admit I have never heard anyone say they were not deeply moved by it. A paperback version is in the works and will be published soon.

My one caveat for this website is that the hospices in my book did not cater for people with Alzheimer’s. I can only say that the attention to the very individual needs of patients would go far when it comes to people with dementia of any kind.

This was originally published on the Alzheimers Authors website:  https://alzauthors.com/2017/06/14/welcome-ann-richardson-author-of-life-in-a-hospice/