Well Past 50: The Weblog of Boomerful.com

Women's Organization and Feminism Film Partner for Change

by Contributing Editor Melina Papadakis

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WomenCount and "What's Your Point, Honey?" are proud to announce their partnership on behalf of women everywhere. WomenCount is a non-profit political organization giving women nationwide a powerful voice in the political process. "What's Your Point, Honey?" is a new documentary exploring the issues that face women every day and the future of women’s leadership.

"The movie is a visual representation of what WomenCount is all about," commented co-founder, Rosemary Camposano. "The young women in 'What's Your Point, Honey?' 'get it.' Lasting change comes through the political process and activism combined."

"My filmmaking partner, Amy Sewell, and I are thrilled to partner up with WomenCount, an organization destined to bring the waves of change for women," said Susan Toffler, co-writer/producer/director of "What's Your Point, Honey?"

At the Democratic Convention in just a few weeks, the partnership will begin its work to take this message on the road. WomenCount will conduct issue-related campaigns on the very same issues addressed in "What's Your Point, Honey?" such as lack of political representation for women in the U.S. Congress. The shared interest of achieving equality for women and giving a voice to an often silent group is what propels this venture.

"We are so excited to have found Susan and Amy," said Managing Director of WomenCount, Stacy Mason. "Not only are they incredible women and feminists in their own right, they put their passion into action in a way that creates a powerful commentary. The film says: We’ve come a long way – but look how far we have to go."

For more information, visit www.womencount.org and www.whatsyourpointhoney.com.

Are you involved with the feminist movement and/or women's political issues? Tell us about what you're doing.

For more interesting articles and news you can use, visit our main Web page, www.Boomerful.com.

The Burning Question: Are Your Parents and/or Children Living with You?

For most families, children leave home after they reach a certain age. But, for various reasons, there are times when adult children need to return to live in the home where they grew up.

And, there are circumstances when it becomes necessary to take in one's parents - especially if they are having health problems.

Are your adult children or your parents (or both!) living with you? Tell us how that is working out for your family.

Be sure to visit our main Web page, www.Boomerful.com, for interesting articles and news you can use!

When Irish Eyes are Smiling…

New Product Editor Mary Kellenberger shares some very special memories.

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When Irish eyes are smiling…

That's what we were all singing as we walked out of church proudly behind my Mother's casket - just one year ago.

My Mother was the most beautiful, loving woman of grace I've ever known. I not only say that as her daughter - but these words were expressed time and again by others at her wake, funeral Mass and at the Irish celebration of life that followed her funeral.

I was so privileged to have had her - not only as a Mother but as a best friend. I often think how lucky I was to have enjoyed her comforting friendship into my senior years. So many of my friends lost their parents early in their lives. I can remember praying desperately when a good friend lost her mother in high school - "Please, please God. Just let my Mother live until I get married." Then – "Please, please God. Just let my Mother live to hold my children." Then – "Please, please God. Just let my Mother live to hold my grandchildren." It was always a prayer to not take her away. Even when she was into her last few days in the hospice - "Please, please God. Don’t let her die...." - when I should have been praying - "Please, please God - take her home to be with you and Dad and all her siblings and friends, so she doesn’t have to suffer anymore." In the very end, that was my prayer - but it was a hard one to say. 

Whether or not people believe in a God, losing our Mothers is one of the most difficult parts of life. Having a God - and a faith that there is a reward and meeting place after we die - just made it so much easier for me. But, that's a very personal thing. It was equally difficult to lose my Dad - but different.

One of the simple joys of having her in my life for so long, was that I could finally understand what she meant when she'd talk about getting up to go to the bathroom so often during the night; or the snapping sound her knees made sometimes when she walked down the stairs or would get up from her favorite chair. We came to share many of the senior symptoms as she got older - as did I.

There's something very special about being a woman and sharing these things with your Mother. She understands, empathizes, sympathizes but never criticizes. And, no one will ever love you as much. 

If you're reading this - thank you. I want people to know about this incredible Woman. But - it might be a bore - after all, most of us love our Moms this dearly. However, for me writing it is cathartic, so I'm really being just plain selfish. Thanks for putting up with a little bit of my heart healing.   

I love you, Mom.

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Be sure to visit our main Web page, www.Boomerful.com, for interesting articles and news you can use!

Are You Going for Beauty or Beast This Halloween?

Eva or Ann. Which ... or witch ... do you feel like this year? It's the one night of the year when ladies have free reign to slather on the makeup, paste on the beaty mark, glue on the exxxxtra-long eyelashes and be Langoria-Lovely. Or, throw on the blonde wig, grab a microphone and walk up to that shrew at the party that gets on your last nerve EVERY TIME you see her at the gym - and be Coulter-Crass. Let's hear from you and send us your pictures (send them to Mary Kellenberger at [email protected])! And, by the way, if you do choose to be the Ann Coulter look-alike/act-alike.....tell us if you still have friends the next day...  :-)

13 Wonderful Women

L’Oréal Paris has announced that the voting period for The Women of Worth National Honoree is open and will continue through October 15 at http://www.womenofworth.com

Visitors are invited to log-on to the site and vote for the honoree who has made the biggest community impact from a pool of 13 exceptional women committed to community achievement and volunteerism. The winning Honoree will receive a $25,000 donation in her name to her associated non-profit organization.

The 13 honorees are a cross-section of women from all across America, and are exceptional representatives of the current trend in grassroots activism:

Maureen Cavaiola, 59, Severna Park, MD, founded Partners in Care, an organization that helps older and disabled adults remain independent in their own homes.

Tara Church, 29, New York, NY, co-founded the world’s first youth environmental nonprofit, Tree Musketeers, at age 8.

Meagan Corlin, 23, Strafford, NH, founded the StarMight Foundation at age 17, a non-profit organization that empowers youth to make a difference through volunteerism.

Angelia Curran, 41, Smith’s Station, AL, is the Deputy Chief of the Friendship Volunteer Fire Department, a volunteer fire department she has helped since age 15.

Anne Garrett Addison, 45, Lake Stephens, WA, co-founded the Preeclampsia Foundation, whose mission is to reduce maternal and infant illness and death due to preeclampsia.

Millicent "Mama" Hill, 67, Los Angeles, CA, established Mama Hill’s Help which provides tutoring for more than 125 neighborhood youth in South Los Angeles.

Gayle Hutchens, 60, Indianapolis, IN, founded Paws & Think, which matches underserved youth with shelter dogs to enhance the lives of adults and children with special needs.

Shamika Lee, 27, Boston, MA, volunteers at Graham Windham, a home that provides preventive services as well as foster care and adoption.

Pauline Lewis, 69, Phoenix, AZ, founded the Phoenix Foundation for Homeless Children and ministers to hundreds of homeless children and their families by tending to their medical, nutritional, and other basic needs.

Wendy Masi, 55, Fort Lauderdale, FL, established the Love Jen Fund, which provides emergency financial assistance to families who have a child sick with cancer.

Eva Payne, 31, Lincoln, NE, founded Camp Kindle, a summer camp for young people impacted by HIV and AIDS.

Hesther Rippy, 80, Lehi, UT, founded the Lehi-Rippy Literacy Center, which offers effective one-on-one literacy training to help families and individuals develop the necessary reading skills to thrive in society.

Karen Stark, 58, Oklahoma City, OK, founded the HUGS Project, a nationwide troop support effort.

For more information and to vote, visit http://www.womenofworth.com.

Who would you nominate as the most wonderful Woman of Worth in your life? Your mother? Sister? Best friend? Boss? Let us know, right here in this blog! We look forward to hearing from you.

The Happy Way of Doing Things: Marjabelle Young Stewart

March 4, 2007

Marjabelle Young Stewart died today. She was 82 years old. She died in a nursing home with no adoring fans around her and no audience to applaud her performance as she bowed out.

I’m not sad that Marjabelle died. She was ready. She told me she was dying two years ago and asked me to write her obituary. I did, and she loved it. She loved it because I wrote about her difficult childhood - living in orphanages, then with relatives, in foster homes, and finally with her mother and stepfather in the back room of a lawn ornament shop. I told how she met the young scientist, Jack Young, at the county fair, married him and moved with him to Washington D.C. where he did top-secret work for the Navy, how she began a glamorous career as a top model, had her own TV show and became the toast of Washington society before writing her first book on manners with the help of Mrs. Art Buchwald.  That’s when she became more than a beautiful young socialite. That’s when she became a real celebrity, appearing on every talk show on television, dining at the White House with four Presidents and being dubbed the "Empress of Etiquette" – by TIME Magazine. Newsweek called her the Queen of Couth. Another called her the Princess of Polite.  Every description included a reference to royalty, because everyone who met her felt that they were in the presence of nobility.

She divorced Jack Young and married Bill Stewart, a lawyer and career politician from Kewanee, Illinois and moved to his hometown. She didn’t like the Hog Capital of the World that much. And it didn’t like her. Marjabelle drank to overcome the pain of her early abandonment and her feeling that she was never good enough. And in Kewanee, Illinois, one doesn’t hide the fact that one drinks too much.  She hurt people when she drank – her friends, her family and people that felt demeaned by someone who acted so uppity after they had seen her drunk in the middle of the Hog Festival.

Marjabelle lived her life in pain. She was beautiful. She was extraordinarily successful.  But she never stopped hurting from the rejection of her parents. And she never stopped trying to rise above her beginnings in the Christian Children’s Home in Council Bluffs, Iowa. She had an entire room in her house devoted to her fame. The walls were covered with newspaper clippings of Marjabelle with Presidents, Marjabelle with Oprah, Marjabelle surrounded by adoring fans as she autographed her latest book. If she didn’t really have a celebrity coming to visit her mansion in Kewanee, she would make one up.  "Oh, my dear," she would say to me on the phone, "I must go. Tom and Nicole are at the door."  Maybe the Cruise’s really were at her door, but I doubt it. There were too many instances of major celebrities "dropping in" at her home in Kewanee.

Real life just wasn’t good enough for Marjabelle – even as the most published author of etiquette books in the world. She tried and tried to make reality a place where life was as delightful as it was in her fantasy world. Marjabelle greeted every person she met with the same flamboyant, yet utterly charming and polite manner. In fifteen years of friendship I never heard her say a bad word about anyone. And I never saw her be anything but the "Empress of Etiquette" in every situation she was in.

More than anything she wanted to make children happy, helping them love themselves by giving them an education in manners – "the happy way of doing things" as she often quoted Emerson. We wrote a book for children together, and I titled it Princess Marjabelle Visits Lollygag Lake – one more tribute to her regal demeanor. We produced a video called Table Manners for Kids in which Marjabelle encouraged children to expect to be invited to the White House someday, and taught them how to dine appropriately when they got there. She wanted every child to feel that they fit in – in a way that she never did. It broke her heart to see any child feeling awkward or out of place. Each time I saw her reach out with extraordinary kindness to a child who didn’t fit in - the little boy who showed up for a shoot with his fly open, or the little girl whose sleeve dragged in her soup - I felt that she was reaching out to little Marjabelle – the five year old girl who waited for her mother to pick her up at the orphanage and never gave up her hopeful, positive attitude, even though her mother didn’t come.

I’m not sad that Marjabelle died. I’m only sad that much of the world judged her so harshly. I’m sad that there was never enough comfort for the little girl that lived inside the flamboyant, bigger-than-life celebrity. I wanted her to feel loved. I wanted to visit her often after she had lost her ability to dress the part of the Princess and entertain like royalty. But the more she lost her elegance, the more she shut me out. "Oh, my little boogy-boo," she would say, "I'm just a little tired to have company today.  Maybe next week.  I love you, my darling."

As her health failed her family told me they couldn’t get her to stop drinking. And, as it happens with families of those who don’t drink well, some of them turned their backs on her as her behavior became more and more erratic. 

Her final days were filled with pain both physical and emotional. I wish I could have been there to ease her pain a little by listening to her stories of her days in the sun – how she dated John Kennedy and a Spanish Count, and how the great Perle Mesta insulted her for wearing a strapless gown to a formal dinner.  "My dear," she had said to a young Marjabelle, "you never wear a strapless gown to a formal dinner – you look naked behind the flowers."

I wish now she could know that hundreds of the students who once filled her etiquette classes are flying to Kewanee, Illinois, the Hog Capital of the World, to pay tribute to her. I wish she knew what a hole her death has left in the hearts of all of us who were inspired by the determination that took her from an orphanage to national celebrity, and the love in her heart that made her reach out to children everywhere to make them feel that they were worthy and accepted.  But most of all I hope the little girl who spent her life trying to make up for her years of loneliness and rejection has finally found an audience large enough to give little Marjabelle the applause an Empress deserves.

Seasoned Relationships

Last week my dear old friend, John came to visit from Seattle. John and I met as twenty-somethings in Mazatlan, Mexico. My girlfriend Jane and I had rented mopeds to tour the area and were trying desperately to figure out how to start the harmless looking little motorcycles when two handsome American guys approached to offer assistance. 

They were funny and charming and definitely coming on to us. We laughed with them about the fact that we didn’t know how to shift a moped; exchanged information about where we were from, what we were doing in Mazatlan and how very single we all were – then decided it would be safer for us, and everyone in Mazatlan, if the guys drove us on our city tour. We rode the mopeds for hours, taking in the sites of historic Mazatlan, the cliffs and the beaches. We partied at hip nightclubs, drinking margaritas and dancing. We went for walks, baked in the sun and made love on the sand.

For the next several years John and I traveled back and forth to see each other – going to elegant parties that ended in a mass of intoxicated bodies stuffed into a steaming hot tub, riding horses in the woods, and trying every new food and drink we came into contact with.

We flew in John’s private plane to visit friends in Vancouver, and to Friday Harbor to watch whales off the coast of the San Juan Islands. We rode motorcycles in the mountains and had wild, monkey sex wherever we went. Those were our twenties. 

When John arrived last week we hugged and started to walk, arm in arm, to car. We passed a mirror in the hotel lobby and for a moment I wondered who the old folks were I saw in the reflection.  These people had little or no resemblance to the dashing young couple with the lust for travel, parties, adventure, and of course, sex.

At dinner John told me of his surgery to remove one kidney, and the bargain he got on his hearing aids. It wasn’t unprovoked. I was fascinated by the story of how he discovered a growth on his kidney – and what the symptoms were, so that I could be on the lookout. And the hearing aid story was based entirely on my curiosity. My kids have been making fun of how deaf I am for long enough that I’ve stopped blaming it on their mumbling, and admitted that I may have just a slight hearing problem.

We reminisced about all of the wild and wonderful things we did together, like the time he took my son and I motorcycling up the side of a mountain alongside the Trask River in Oregon. It was raining, and the narrow mountain paths were slick. I had ridden before, but the terrain and weather intimidated me. I became too cautious, slowing on every curve, and promptly falling over into the mud each time I slowed down. John helped me right the bike. 

"You have to give it gas going around those turns," he instructed.  "Drive it like you drive your sports car.  You’re falling because you’re going too slow."  I was not about to be accused of driving my motorcycle "like a girl," so I hopped back on my bike, gave the sucker some gas, and off I went – straight over the edge and down the side of the mountain. There was heavy brush covering the mountain, and fortunately I let go of the bike as it started to tumble several hundred feet down to land in the safety of a Highbush Blueberry Plant - scratched, embarrassed, but relatively unscathed.

John scrambled down the side of the mountain to my side. I expected panic, concern and sympathy.  What I got was, "Wow, I wish I’d had my camera for that. You were literally suspended in mid-air.  That was so cool."  I had no choice but to retrieve my motorcycle and continue the ride to the top of the mountain. When the three of us reached the pinnacle, there was a herd of mountain goats, quietly grazing and scrutinizing us with as much curiosity as we had for them. Reaching the top made everything worthwhile, and the terrifying journey to the top made a great memory to reminisce about every time we got together after that.

We laughed as we remembered, drank our two glasses of wine over a low-fat dinner and finished up by 8:30 so I could be home getting ready for bed by 9:00. We spent the next two days together eating healthy meals and drinking moderately, my husband listening patiently to our stories of "our days in the sun."  As I relived the romantic days of our relationship, I forgot how gray John’s hair has become, and how nonexistent my waistline appeared.

When he left I missed him.  More than I expected.  More than I missed him when our visits ended back in our twenties. I missed him because I realized that he had become a treasured friend. There was not a hint of the old competition for who was in control. There was no need to prove anything to each other. And I didn’t once feel the need to steal a glance at myself in a mirror to make sure I looked appropriately alluring. We were at peace in our friendship.

I wouldn’t change a thing about the years full of romance and adventure.  But, like I said before, I wouldn’t want to do it again. I like sitting quietly with an old friend, a good glass of wine and some wonderful stories that remind us how we became what we are today – seasoned and happy, with enough memories to entertain us for a very long time.

Man on Board!

A MAN on the Well Past 50 Advisory Board?

At our last Well Past 50 Advisory Board meeting one Board member suggested that possibly I was a little one-sided in my concerns for 50+ women. Aging isn’t only about dealing with eyebrow loss, sagging breasts and makeup mistakes. MEN have problems with aging, too.

Wow. Can that be true? Don’t men just get more and more comfortable with themselves as their bellies expand, their hair stops growing in the right places and starts growing in the wrong places, and their sex drive dwindles.?

Possibly I’ve been overlooking a whole new audience that needs me. After the Board meeting I talked to a few men friends to find out how they feel about aging. Indeed, it seems that I was wrong.  Apparently men don’t accept it any better than women do. They are using more “grooming products” (we would call them beauty products), more and more of them are considering cosmetic surgery, and, studies show that significant Viagra use is associated with advancing age, even though ED is not a natural side effect of aging.

So maybe men are panicked, too. They just don’t talk about it as much as we do. But then, men have never talked about anything as much as we do. Maybe Well Past 50 is a perfect opportunity to get men talking about the things that bother them. They can tell me, the Board and, yes the entire world what they are concerned about, and remain anonymous if they want. Then we, their female counterparts, can tell them how we feel about their concerns, and find experts to address their questions, worries and insecurities.

Sounds like a win-win situation. Women find out more about how the men in our lives feel and men find out how we feel about how they feel. You get the point. 

Now we just have to get them talking to us. Yes, we’ve been trying this for years, but this time they can talk to women without feeling like they’re being judged or fearing that they just said something that will get them the cold shoulder for the days, or weeks to come. 

Help us get them talking, Ladies! Tell your men friends, husbands, lovers that we need their input at Well Past 50.  Ask them to join in a dialogue with us about aging – tell us their greatest fears and insecurities, as well as dreams, goals and accomplishments.  What do they want from us?  What do they want us to want from them? 

And then – who knows – maybe we’ll even get a man, or men, on the Well Past 50 Advisory Board!

Seize The Day

If you have been reading my essays you know about my friend, Sandy, and our 43 year friendship that has been by far the most influential and meaningful relationship of my life. Our friendship began when we were fourteen. We were together for the births of each others’ children, our divorces, her mother’s death, both of our weddings, new friendships, and twenty years of building a business.

When I was married at seventeen and life was looking fairly hopeless, Sandy taught me the positive aspects of living as an adult without parents. You could open the bag of chocolate chips and eat as many as you wanted, and make the cookies later. Better yet, you could make the batter and eat it all, and never make cookies. You could eat potato chips as your main course and have chocolate chips for dessert. Chocolate chips were a very important part of the advantages of independence.

She cleaned my filthy two room apartment to save me from the dangers she warned me could kill us all if I ever again left a plate of beans and weanies sitting on the counter for three days. There was botulism, deadly mold and cockroaches. She used enough bleach to kill all of the offenders she had described – and possibly both of us if we hadn’t quickly opened every window. We gagged from the bleach fumes and bent over with laughter at our dual incompetence.

I talked Sandy into coming to work for me when I needed a bookkeeper, not because she had bookkeeping skills, but because she made me so happy when we were together that I knew it would work out. For twenty years we entertained clients with our caustic banter, and kept each others spirits up throughout our darkest times. When she left to care for her ailing mother I dreaded going to work. I cried every morning as I braced myself to greet Sandy’s replacement – a sweet, well-meaning Baptist lady with little sense of humor.

When Sandy’s mother was lying comatose in the hospital, I smuggled in a bottle of wine and we got mildly drunk as we told stories of her mother’s eccentricities when we were teenagers. Sandy’s mother had never had a sense of time. She would sew clothes for Sandy all night long and nap intermittently throughout the day and night, leaving us with a great deal of freedom. We could sneak out of the house at midnight to meet a group of friends without worry. She would greet us at 2 AM as if we had just arrived home from school. We told story after story about her delightful mom, and laughed until we cried. Then we just cried.

Sandy didn’t come back to work after her mother’s death, even though my urging came close to begging. Her unexpected loss had convinced her that she should spend the rest of her own life pursuing the things she had always wanted to do. She loved painting - walls, furniture – anything that needed freshening up with color and perhaps a vine or a happy looking flower that would turn a chair into a work of art.

We vowed to keep our friendship as close as ever by seeing each other every week. We would have lunch, meet for drinks, visit old friends together - all of the things that sustain and strengthen a friendship.

As so often happens when you know you have plenty of time, we began to put off our get-togethers to take care of the more mundane necessities of life – the laundry that had piled up, the business calls that needed to be made. We would put off weekends away, saying we would get to it in the fall or during the holidays. Our lunches became few and far between.

When Sandy was diagnosed with a “very curable” form of colon cancer we worked in our long overdue weekend away, and promised to spend every minute together that we could. Her doctors’ appointments and my work schedule didn’t allow for many of those minutes.

We talked on Tuesday and made plans to have lunch as soon as her negative reaction to the chemo had cleared up – in a few days or so. She died on Thursday from a blood clot to the lung.

There is no time for the weekends, the lunches, the drinks. There is no time.

If either of us had known, we would have rushed to each other and embraced the time we had left. We didn’t know. No one ever knows.

I promised myself that I would not get maudlin or preachy as I told you about Sandy’s death. She would have made a joke and dismissed me as morose. I didn’t know how I would end this on a note positive enough to please her. As I sat, staring at the monitor, at a loss for positive sentiments, my daughter handed me the lyrics to a song she and her campmates at music camp wrote today. They were told to write a song expressing what they would do if they had but one day left to live. Here is the chorus to the song the group of fourteen year olds composed.

I would seize the day
I would throw my cares away.
I would try something new.
I would spend the day with you.
I would seize the day.

Priorities of the Heart

Well Past 50 Board Member, Mary Kellenberger, had a recent scare when her doctor suggested she have an angiogram. I was struck by the fact that I have become one of that generation that discusses our ailments more than our boyfriends, our children or our jobs.

We are, quite legitimately, consumed with what’s happening to our bodies. We watch our friends experience every sort of age-related health problem possible, and begin to notice symptoms that once would have been ignored.  My dear friend, Sandy is undergoing Chemotherapy for colon cancer.  Was that recent bout I had with constipation a sign of something more insidious than a reaction to a cheese quesadilla? Woody, my soul-mate, is undergoing rehab for heart problems. Is that palpitation I feel occasionally cause for alarm? 

My friends who once had sports cars, speed boats and schedules filled with fascinating activities, now have insulin syringes, heart stints and catheters. In order for us to maintain our positive attitudes and stay engaged in life, it is so important to acknowledge the changes time has made to our bodies, then focus on the joy and wonder life still has to offer. Mary’s observations offer a positive perspective on priorities from someone who was forced to identify her own.

Assigning daily tasks some kind of order is what I attempt most mornings upon arrival at my office.  Logically, things line up as number 1, 2, 3, etc. based on deadlines and other’s reliance on me. Most days, asterisks and A’s, B’s and C’s get added, if needed, to try to fit in everything. It works okay.Things seem to get done this way. But what about life priorities – I mean real life-surviving priorities.

When I was told a few weeks ago that the physician- prescribed stress and Cardiolite testing I had gone through (because of recent minor chest pains) produced questionable results, an angiogram was the next  recommended step if I wanted precise results. I am honestly ashamed to admit my very first reaction:  “Oh, my God, I can’t let anyone know this because it makes me sound so old!”  Of course, my husband would be there for me.  Actually, he’s already had this done. And, I could tell my neighbor because he’s had the procedure done and my friend from work and on and on, being careful not to let those younger people in my life know - especially those that have some control over my career.  Will they think I’m no longer capable of performing my job?

How unquestionably vain and selfish of me. Heart disease  - as the media reminds us daily – has become the number one killer of women. We have heart walks, and dress in red, and participate in all kinds of fund raisers and awareness campaigns. So, how self-important to give a damn about what anyone thinks of me when it could mean the difference between living and dying. My first thought should have been to investigate every option available to stay alive for myself and those whom I love, and who love and rely on me.

My initial vanity subsided in a few days (still way too long) and I got my priorities back in place. Eventually sharing with good friends and family what I was about to experience, I firmly believe that their thoughts and prayers helped me come through an angiogram with flying colors and the precious knowledge that I do – indeed – have a healthy heart. It was determined that I probably suffer from mild acid reflux – that sounds kind of old, too, doesn’t it?  No matter.

All the procedures were quite simple and an angiogram, I am  told, is considered 100% conclusive. The other good news is that even if there had been some blockage in my arteries, the low-risk option of angioplasty to alleviate this blockage would have been immediately available. Technology has made such procedures readily available for most  and relatively non-invasive.

It was time to get over myself and prioritize my priorities. Hopefully, I’ve done that.