As college graduation neared, our talk turned to employment. Several of my fabulous-looking sorority sisters applied to be and became flight attendants. Obviously, that wasn’t a career-choice for me because I was not attractive enough, nor liked to fly that much. Secondly, I had no desire to be in sales. I didn’t want to travel hither and yon five days a week, sleep in cheap hotels, and spend hours peddling wares.

Yesterday I was reminded of how awful and frustrating it must be to be a road warrior. Yes, I flew home on the worst travel day this year. (At least that’s what the news channel dubbed it this morning.) My simple, one-stop, six-hour air trip morphed in 13 hours! Flights across the country were cancelled leaving thousands standing in customer service lines or wandering aimless around killing time. At first, I told myself to just relax–nothing I can do about it. After all, I was only delayed a half-hour. But then I received numerous alerts that continued to change the departure time. The last message stated a four and a half hour delay. Now, I was torqued. How could I occupy my time for so long? Particularly in an airport that doesn’t sell newspapers.

Fortunately, I found a seat at the bar in an overly jammed restaurant and struck up a conversation with the bartender. Not only was she amusing, but her stories snapped me out of my poor, pitiful Sue mood. Little did I know this madness began on Friday afternoon when all flights in and out of Charlotte were grounded. One of her customers told her he’d been sitting in the airport for 38 hours. Her second story, though, was poignant. The elderly grandparents were on their way to DC to visit their four year-old-grand daughter, who they don’t get to see very often. “I bought her a snow globe filled with butterflies, but TSA threw it away because of the liquid,” she said through her tears.

But the worst story was told by my seat mate on the late flight back to Phoenix. His non-stop trip to Denver was cancelled, so the airline rerouted him: Phoenix to Los Angeles to Portland to Denver. Supposedly, he would arrive in Denver at 11:30 this morning–just in time to make his noon meeting. I was ashamed of myself for silently cursing my fate after this guy’s tale. “Wow. You must be really upset. You’re going to be flying around all night.”

“No, I’m used to it. Can’t do anything about public transportation, and certainly can’t do anything about the weather. You’ve got to roll with it.”

“Or re-career,” I thought. Never did I ever want to be a….

This week I was charged with the responsibility of helping someone plan a 70th birthday party, and she wanted me to find an age-appropriate game(s). This endeavor led me to think about when I’d earned a bit of sense and was not as stupid as I was in prior years. Of course, my recent birthday reminded me I was well on my way to being 80 in four years, but in 1974, unlike my friend’s 70 year-old sister, I was 26.

Thankfully, Etsy offers a variety of printable games for a pittance, and I discovered what I did and did not recall 50 years later. I knew Richard Nixon resigned as President; I knew Muhammad Ali defeated George Foreman in Rumble in the Jungle, I knew Stephen King’s first published novel was Carrie, and I knew that Ray Stevens sang the iconic song, The Streak. (Who can forget, don’t look, Ethel!)

However, my greatest downfall were prices of goods in 1974. Even when I afforded myself a little leeway on guessing the right amount, without going over the actual, retail price, I failed miserably. A loaf of bread was 28 cents, a dozen eggs was 78 cents, a gallon of gas was 53 cents, and the average car cost $4,441. Ah, the good old days–when the minimum wage was $2.00 per hour!

At 76, though, I’ve no desire to return to 1974. I adore and embrace modern devices, such as the internet, cell phones, microwave ovens, streaming TV, and solar lighting. I love that Alexa plays any tune I request, and that Siri is my personal assistant. (Admittedly, I do wear a tie-dyed tee from my friend’s diner, re-watch Blazing Saddles, and sing along to Rikki Don’t Lose That Number.) Just don’t make me wear bell-bottoms again!

The issue of ageism trends across social media these days, with folk asking how old is too old? Since I’m a septuagenarian, I do know a bit about the process of aging. First and foremost, it’s an individual thing, even though statistical gurus like to lump everybody together and figure out the average. Adults are evaluated on a standardized scale, much like our children are on standardized tests. Certainly, there are cognitive tests to identify comprehension, psychosis, Alzheimer’s, and other psychological issues, but these are usually administered individually.

Fortunately, for me, my synapses are currently firing on every cylinder. I’m assured of that by my ability to work the Sunday crossword in thirty minutes or less, and the fact that my trivia team has yet to remove me from the roster. I’m further bolstered by my visual acuity, attention to detail, and my GPS that I can safely drive a car, grocery shop, and host large dinner parties. I’m proud that even during the pandemic, I never had groceries and stuff delivered to my door. I got out of my casa and fended for myself.

When it comes to physical things, I’m about half. I can do some, but not others. And some things I never could do, like I never could really dance, do a cartwheel, or dive into the swimming pool. I ride a bike, tend to a garden, mow the lawn, play pickleball, swing a bat, climb a ladder, and walk around the neighborhood. No longer, can I lift more than 25 lbs. of salt into the water softener, open a jar of pickles or bottle of sports’ drinks, nor put my large carry-on in the above plane bin. My upper arm strength lives with Jesus.

I also conscientiously no longer do some things. For example, I use services, i.e. landscaping, pool maintenance, and housekeeping. I’ve no desire to fire up my chain saw, fight off algae, or scrub the bathrooms.

In sum, I have no interest in following a rigid schedule. If I had experience in world politics, I have the cognitive skills to lead, but I no longer have the patience to get up early and dance the night away. In short, age is not the sole determinant of anyone’s cognitive ability to lead or govern. (My great grandmother lived to be 104 and was “with it” until a week before her death.)

Over the next four months, we will be inundated with the issue of age, instead of an in-depth focus on platform, moral integrity, and character. My concerns about climate, international relations, poverty, and education will be virtually ignored. And even after the event yesterday, so will the issue of gun control. Stop worrying about how old I am, and start listening to my voice.

When it’s 112 degrees+, it’s hard to believe school will commence in a month. Back-to-school sales kick off tomorrow, as families rush to fill their weekends with last-minute vacations. This time used to be referred to as fall, however, I simply refer to it as mid-summer. (No, I didn’t steal that from Shakespeare; it’s simply an Arizona fact. A fact that seems to be trending further across the US, as the sweltering weather rolls on.)

Last week my blog focused on the need for mentoring, yet the need for volunteers is equally important. Recent studies have identified a dearth of those willing to donate their time to serve others. Little League and Pop Warner beg for coaches, Girl Scouts needs leaders, Big Brothers and Big Sisters need responsible adults, teachers need homeroom moms and dads, and most schools need ancillary tutors and field trip and extracurricular event chaperones. Where are the volunteers?

Working in full-time jobs. The number of both-parent working families has grown over time. Long gone is the 50’s nostalgic view of the stay-at-home mom, who bakes cookies for the bake sale, volunteers in Mrs. Brown’s classroom, and chairs the school carnival committee. Secondly, the rise of single-parent families has also contributed to the lack of volunteers. And the COVID pandemic turned America upside, when schools were ordered closed. Business and industry scrambled to figure out “work-from-home options, first responders had to work, and those in food and beverage service, recreation and fitness gyms were furloughed. Oh, damn! Who’s going to watch the kids? Who’s going to help the kinder students in on-line school? Not the grandparents nor aunts and uncles. In highly mobile, transient America, generational support is obsolete.

Mid-summer approaches. If you’re tired of the heat, disgusted with the politics, bored with mindless TV, weary of your friends, and in need of a stimulating rejuvenation, a kick in the pants, or a reason to get up in the morning, there are a plethora of organizations who need volnteers! The only thing missing is? U.

Early in my school board service, the president of a national bank introduced a new program at one of our meetings. The bank’s mentorship program necessitated that elementary principals identify fifth grade students with the potential for academic success, but who lack confidence or support from their families. These students would be matched with adult mentors, and both parties had to meet together regularly through high school graduation. Upon successful graduation, each student would be guaranteed a four-year scholarship to any Arizona state university.

Wow! What an exciting opportunity for those from low-income families. I was so impressed I signed up to be a mentor, and in 2011, my “daughter” graduated from high school. Of course, by then the bank was long gone, and so was the scholarship. Yet, four years later, I held her college graduation party in my backyard, and she secured a job in state government. Today, she supervises a large government agency, while raising two children of her own.

Nice story, Sue. What’s your point? Like most of us, I tuned in to the debate for a while and was both disgusted and appalled. Over thirty lies from one, old, white man, and babble from a lackluster other old, white man. Washington is filled with aging leadership from the White House, to the Congress, to the Supreme Court. The cause? A serious lack of mentorship, a lack of passing the proverbial gauntlet to others. America needs young idealists who are committed to making things better and more sustainable, rather than engaging in a pissing contest to see who can build the biggest bomb. America needs communicators, not bullies. America needs collaborators and cooperators, not egotists. By the way, Theodore Roosevelt was 42 when he became President; John Kennedy was elected at 43.

While I could continue this blog for another 1,000 words, I’ve got to go. My “daughter” and her kids are coming to frolic in my pool, and I’ve got to add air to their inflatables, set up the high chair, and make this Madrina’s famous Mac and cheese!

Indeed, he is still alive, and this week I was “up close and personal” with him and two of my friends. I’m sure you’re curious as to why; because of a random dinner party weeks ago.

“Let’s go to Las Vegas for a couple of days.”

Okay, I agreed, but the next morning as I recalled the conversation, I wondered: Did I actually say I would go to LV and see Wayne Newton. Have I dreamed this? Or have I lost my mind? Even in my youth, I wasn’t a fan of that guy, so why would this old gal do it now? Unfortunately, when I checked my phone, a text confirmed all of the plane flights, hotel and dinner reservations, and tickets to Wayne. Ye gods, I must have had one too many last night!

What a curious quartet we were: two old broads and two young broads. Of course, one of the younguns had to fly home earlier, so she missed Mr. Las Vegas, who has been performing there for 65 years! I reluctantly ambled to his small venue inside the Flamingo Hotel and took my seat on a folding chair. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, I hope it’s a short performance.

There’s the adage: anticipate the worst; hope for the best. It wasn’t the worst ninety minutes of my life, nor the best, it was interesting. Unfortunately, his age hampers his ability to sing the high notes and that’s grating on my ears, yet he talked a lot about his long career in show biz, shared pictures, and video clips to verify his memories. Here’s some of my highlights:

1. At 10 years old he and his brother were given their own TV show, Rascals in Rhythm on KOOL-TV in Phoenix. At 15, he and his brother were offered a two-week contract at the Flamingo, performing 4 times a night, 6 days a week! (Due to his age though, he was prohibited from entering the casino floor.) That led to an extended contract, and his dropping out of North High School in his junior year.
2. At 18, he enlisted in the Army only to be rejected because of asthma, so he volunteered to perform for the troops. He eventually replaced Bob Hope as chair of USO Celebrity Circle–a position he still holds.
3. Newton was known for his perfect pitch, and even though, he can not read music, he mastered 15 instruments. In fact, I was in awe of his violin fiddling and performance on the steel guitar.
4. Further, for years he bred and raised Arabian horses at his Las Vegas Ranch, which was said to outdo that of Graceland.
5. I was impressed by the how prolific and varied his career is with over 50 albums and 160 recordings.

As I left the small theater, I hadn’t wasted 90 minutes of my life. I’d been up close and personal with an American icon. Danke Schoen.