As a child, I imagined my life at different ages: at 22 I was dressed as a bride, 30 as any professional who was also a homemaker and had children. The vision of 40 years was similar to that of a young grandmother. But, as I go in her thirties, I realize that nothing is happening that. Not that my imagination was boundless, rather, I understand that my calculations were made according to the life of women around me. Today the 40 appear to be the new 30: women in the prime of life, mature, a turning point in his career, with a freer sexual life.

Celebrities lead the sampler: there are Halle Berry, Jennifer Aniston, Monica Belluci and Salma Hayek, to name a few. Some even say that his example “does not count” because they have much money to spend, how often they want, by the department and paint tin-real or digital. But beyond the physical matter, which is due to a planned set of events and changes in the life course.

Expectations are others still active professionally, projecting its vitality and beauty complex, are more master of his life that a girl of 25 years, perhaps because they have left behind the pressures of the system of values.

In retrospect …

As strange as it may seem, adolescence and the so-called “young adult” are stages of life with no more than 100 years of existence. It was the early twentieth century when it came adolescence, and that the “young adult” was not until the 1980’s. Earlier, both men and women passed in the blink of an eye from childhood to adulthood, men via the work of women for motherhood. Those who were age 15 giving birth to her first child, now in the prime of adolescence, with what adulthood has been postponed for at least another 15 years.

Autonomy is one of the factors that have made this shift in stages. Those who have the opportunity to attend college join professional life to 23 years. Thereafter, we expect unstable contracts, apprenticeships, pay off debt from college, get some savings. Finally, around 30, the woman is single, with economic autonomy, opportunities for travel and time for herself. Even now, rather than investing in an expensive wedding, prefer to use their savings as investment property.

The so-called crisis of the 40 appears to be moving to the next folio (age 50), but that does not mean that 40 is a time without conflict. For example, women who chose marriage and motherhood in her thirties, when they come to pick up 40 are focused on their careers and dealing with teenage boys. Thus, rather than distressed that comes with old age or harden their view, are forced to relax their criteria. The pressure exerted by the young can be a source of anguish, but also an incentive for many women to be given the opportunity to explore other possibilities and leave their own schemes.

Unfortunately many women of this generation have got it into the stereotype of the “cougar” (panther). In general, a woman called cougar mature, over 40 years, which is arranged, out to have fun at night and live their sexuality openly regardless of the age of the men with whom it relates. Although the image of the panther is elegant and sensual night, young people often use it with contempt, as if to say “these ladies should be caring for grandchildren.” I suspect that beneath the mocking tone is ignorance, fear and even a strange envy. (I think the figure of the cougars deserves a separate post.)

In summary: In a very short amount of time concerning the numerical age have changed and diversified. Although in some areas is still a system that still keeps women in the schemes of old, in other areas, the difference between a 30 and a 40 becomes more diffuse, mature, not aged, know your body, are own masters, they know they can break barriers and enjoy their sexuality openly.

What do you think are the 40 the new 30?

Today I went to the airport to bid adieu to my grand children who after filling one month with my life with tons of joy and happiness were returning to their home and hearth. When the eldest of all kissed me, tears started welling up, and I tried my best to keep them in check. When the second, a girl said, “Bye Bye partner” and kissed me profusely on both cheeks, the tears were on the edge of my eyelids. All my faculties stretched to full capacity to control the tears and not to make me look a sentimental old fellow. But when the toddler of one and half got into my lap and waved, “Ta Ta Tatha (grandpa)” all my resolution broke down. The tears rolled down, not in trickles but torrents. Soon it was a deluge. I couldn’t care less what the public thought of me and hugged the little fellow. Without even a few words in his vocabulary, he stole my heart and left a large void in my heart and life. As they checked into the security counter, I was a picture of an old man bursting away at seams and crying his heart out. I was not sure when I would meet them again. Thatha the only Telugu word may pass out of their vocabulary. Thatha himself may ride into the sunset of his life and oblivion. The possibilities are immense in this uncertain life.

                   For the last one month, I was listening to the sweetest music whenever anyone of them called me Thatha. They often ordered me to perform tasks, which I thought were beyond my physical prowess. I assumed many roles of a pony, horsy, a wizard, magician, sweet dispenser, race starter, arbitrator to solve conflicts among themselves, a raconteur, a computer wizard etc. I enjoyed playing all those roles and played them happily to the best of my abilities.

                   Their Ammamma (grandma) every day asked them as to what they wanted for meals and prepared them catering for all their tastes and preferences and feeding them. She added love to each spoonful. The kids who used to trouble their Mommy used to eat without a murmur of protest and enjoyed every morsel. They used to sit on the dining table like maharajahs and order their Ammamma to bring something or other of their choice. Poor Ammamma complied with every demand no matter what trouble it involved. Today she is uncontrollable and sobbing away as she doesn’t know when they will make another trip to India and whether she would be there to provide all the delicacies to her grandchildren.

                   Time, the so called eminent healer, is also cruel. When my grand children visit us next time they would be older, more westernized and forget even the single Telugu word they know now. We are bound to age further and may not be agile enough to play games with them. I wish there was some mechanism to freeze the time and our age. Why did HG wells not take a patent for his Time Machine? Why didn’t the whiz kids of computers come up with a gadget to enable us to go back and forth in time? I wondered.

                   When I returned home, I found the servants clearing the mess and rearranging the house. The sofas used for several games like hide and seek and springboard diving etc looked like ship wrecks. The carpets had many holes made by the kids wielding forks and knifes. The walls once shining now had several abstract paintings that would have given Picasso a run for his money. The glass cases in the cabinet enclosing several collector’s pieces and souvenirs that I had collected from various parts of the world were in pieces. Even the computer monitor had abstract art painted diligently with marker pens. The house was in a complete but a blissful mess. When the servants started the damage control process, I shouted at the top of my voice “NO” startling everyone. I wanted all those marks and damages to stay for a year. I wanted to savour the moments of value time I’d spent with my grandchildren. If my guests or visitor

Image by Gideon Tsang via Flickr

s thought I was running a house which looked like a battlefront with many casualties, so be it, I thought. A broken artefact can be replaced, a ruined carpet discarded, a damaged computer replaced, but the void in the heart and its angst can neither be repaired nor treated.

                   I slumped down on the sofa, and the sounds of silence disturbed me to no end. I felt an enormous disconnect with the entire world. For the last one month, the house was reverberating with peals of laughter, and shrieks of excitement which I could still hear echoing faintly from the walls. All those noises got muted as though someone had switched off the power supply to the entire system. The whole house was like a silent chamber with the silence overpowering and pushing me into an unknown abyss.

                   As I proceeded to my bedroom, heartsick, I passed the puja (prayer) room. I could see even God seemed to be shedding tears copiously.

Thursday night, 11:45 PM: I was sitting at my dining room table, watching the Secret of Moonacre on my lap-top and knitting my way through the intracacies of the heel part of a sock. I had just gotten the sock to the nice, boring part of knitting the foot, and the movie had just gotten to a dramatic chase scene, when there was a sharp sound, a thunderous sound and a tree limb pierced the cabinet in one corner of the dining room and another pierced the ceiling by the sink.

I dashed toward the study where my roommate was playing WOW, and met him at the door, dashing to check on me. We then began hastily rounding up animals and shooing them out onto the patio or into the study, where the ceiling was still intact. I called my daughter, then went outside to help my roomie reassured the local police that we were ok, and some neighbors as well, then went back to rounding up kitties. After a few shocked moments, I called the 1-800 number for my home-owners insurance. I handed the phone off to my roommate so he could give them my cell-phone number, and went back to rounding up pets.

By 2:45 Am, Friday morning, I had found all the cats and packed some of them in carriers. When my daughter arrived, however, she was in no shape to drive back as she had had no sleep. We moved electronic items out of the house into vehicles, where they would be safe in the event of further collapsing damage. We camped on the front lawn, waiting for the insurance agent. My daughter was able to catch a quick nap. I worked on the sock.

9:00 AM: No sign of the adjuster. I called my normal insurance agent, let him know what was going on. He offered to track down the adjuster, and told me to definitely go ahead and keep the doctor appointment I had for that day. It was a routine visited to the orthopaedist for a cortisone shot for my arthritic left knee — fairly vital under the circumstance, as mobility was and is essential to moving a bunch of stuff around.

10:00 Am: I took my sock and drove to the doctor appointment. Worked on my sock, talked about it to a group of age peers, and about writing online. Got the shot, got the name of a possible corrective instead of just ameliatorive treatment, and went back home. 

11:45 AM: We went to Subway for lunch. Food and drink never tasted so good! We were tired, hot, dirty and stressed. I’m afraid we may have been a bit rude; three cell phones were busy almost non-stop as we continued to contact family members.

12:30 PM Back to the house, shifted cats out of carriers to give them a break. The adjuster still had not showed, and daughter did not feel confident that she could drive on her own, plug up cat escape holes at my old mobile home on my aunt’s property and settle the cats. So we waited.  We were able to give away the newest kitty — one I had had only a week.

1:30 PM, I called my agent’s office again, and this time we did track down the adjuster. He had already had a full day planned for Friday, and had not been back to his office to pick up the notice that he was needed at my place. He named an amount he would authorize for debris removal and tarping, and said he would definitely come look at it Monday. He gave me an email address to which to send pictures.

2:00 PM Packed up the poor, distressed kitties and drove to my aunt’s house. Princess, my former porch kitty, dug frantically at her carrier door, pulling a nail off one foot and rubbing her nose on the bars. I pulled her carrier up onto my lap, petted, soothed, talked and gave her drinks of water out of my water bottle. Finally she settled.

5:30 PM: Arrived at my aunt’s, took the most frantic kitties (Princess) and compatible companions to the bedroom. Aunt had already opened windows to let the place air out. No AC, of course, since the power is off there, but a thick canopy of shade trees help keep the heat down. Stopped up the holes that we had learned would let kitties escape. (See Panic!)

8:00 PM: Arrived at daughter’s house. Her hubby had left us dinner in the oven. Yum! He’s a good cook, and we were again, hot, tired, hungry and thirsty. I watched the Mask with the children, then a Discworld episode with my grandson. I fell asleep about 4 minutes into the movie.

Saturday Morning, 8:00 AM: Daughter was dead to the world when I got up, but Mike, her husband was awake. We took my grades for the summer classes I had taught to my work and dropped them off, then made a Walmart run for things I thought we might need, such as dust masks and another set of doublepointed needles so I could finish the sock. The time lines get a little jumbled here, but we got back to the house, fed kids breakfast, and I finished the first toe on the sock.

10:00 AM: We drop the two youngest ones off with Mike’s mother, and head back to my disaster.  En route, I call tree service companies and line up two people to give estimates. I also call my oldest son, who had offered monetary aid in lieu of traveling to assist. That turned out to be very welcome, as I was now down to my last $50.00 in the checking account and all this dashing about was for sure cutting down on the writing time.

12:00 Noon: Arrive, get stuff to feed everyone for lunch. First tree service person arrives. He looks over the situation, shakes his head, and names a reasonable sum that is well in excess of the amount the adjuster had allowed.

1:00-3:00: Children organized the garage, Regina, my daughter, was getting sick from the heat and lack of sleep, and had to lie down. Mike reached things down from tall cupboards, helped sweep up nasty insulation that had fallen from the attic. My room mate had put in a full morning getting limbs away from the power lines using our little electric chain saw while a police officer spotted for him. He was beginning to look rather pale, so we sat him down with a cold drink and had him work on packing the china set he inherited from his grandmother.

3:00: Another tree service arrived to look at the situation. He laughed, shook his head over the appearance of the house and said the insurance company was just going to total it out — to get ready for it. He named a price MUCH higher than the first guy.

4:00 I call the first guy back to tell him I liked the way he seemed to do business, but that I would need to wait for approval as his estimate was greater than the amount the adjuster agreed to authorize.  We then cut open and ate a delicious water melon. Regina, Mike and the kids took my two doggies with them. There had not been room for them and the cats the first pet removal run.

5:00 Although the house was still settling in places, my roomie and I decided we didn’t have the money for a motel at this juncture, and settled into the study and living room since those rooms were the least affected. Nothing left to do now but catch up my deadlines and wait.

The other day I got an invitation from my 14 year old granddaughter to be friends on Facebook.  Umm…see pictures of her and the other grandchildren she communicates with and know something about her life and the others.  All six grandchildren reside out of state and I don’t get to talk to them much.  They text…I don’t.  I email…some answer…some don’t.

This just might be the answer to this grandmother’s dream of keeping close to the grandchildren in three different states.  It is fun to open my emails and see that one of them has “tagged” a photo to me.  (The lingo is still confusing to me, although I was given an excellent tutorial by the one who invited me when she was here for a two-day visit.)

I could moan and groan that my grandchildren never have time for me, however that isn’t true.  If I don’t learn how to communicate in their way, it means that I don’t make time for them. Just learning to be flexible and getting with the program is great.  Being teachable is something that this 66-year old grandmother wants to keep in mind.  It is never to late to learn to “tag a photo” or chat online if it means that I enter the world of communication with my grandchildren.  The days of digital photography and computers, ipods and iphones are making our youth smarter and more tech savvy.

Please don’t find me on Facebook.  My invitation is for my social circle of grandchildren and businesses that interest me.  We had school.  Write me a letter or call me.  You are my generation.  My grandchildren are communicating in the way they know best: the technology of their generation. 

We dearly love these little girls. When we see them they run to hug us, and tell us over and over how much they love us. To them we are Pam and Pop, their Mace grandparents and our daughter is their Sissy.

After the first of the year their mother left the state and took our girls. We did not know where they were for a while. Our son was heartbroken and determined to get his daughters back.

With details I can’t explain here, we finally got our girls back two weeks ago. My son brought them to work to see me. After not seeing them since Christmas Eve, I was afraid as young as they were they would not remember me. I was wrong. They called my name and enveloped me in sweet kisses all the while repeating over and over these words, “I love you. I missed you.”

Mother’s Day was a special day for the Mace house. Our son had to work so our daughter picked up her nieces and brought them to our house. They had yet to be reunited with their Pop, and when they saw him hugs and kisses were planted on his rough cheeks while his strong arms embraced his granddaughters, his Mace Girls.

Once in the house another reunion took place as our happy dogs covered our girls with wet kisses. Their sweet laughter and happy voices flowed through our home. Happy little girls who knew they were safe and well loved. My Mace Girls.

The day was spent around the family table eating a big breakfast of bacon, eggs, blueberry biscuits and apple turnovers. Then outside for a silly game of baseball, throwing balls for the dogs and finally playing in piles of leaves.

We ended with a bubble bath and clean clothes before returning them to their father. Hugs and kisses made the rounds again as happy, tired, little girls were secured in car seats under the watchful eye of their Sissy.

What the future holds is anyone’s guess. I think these precious little girls still have a lot to go though in their lives. But for now they are happy in the love of their father, their grandparents on both sides and their Sissy. The love we have for them will remain consistent, a stable anchor in a rough world. They will always be my Mace Girls and they will forever be loved.

All the below photos owned by PR Mace.

Savanna and Brianna taking their bath

Savanna in her clean clothes after her bath.

Brianna in her clean clothes and wet hair.

My husband Craig with our daughter (Sissy) and Savanna.

Craig with all his Mace Girls. Shanna, Brianna and Savanna.

Ebony Girl-Shyama

She picked the beautiful finger ring with her trembling hand. The little diamond was spreading its dazzling shine in the dimly lit room. Shyama’s eyes were fixed on the finger ring. She gradually drifted back in to the alleys of the past where things began to appear and disappear.

http://rajasirji.webs.com

Sunayana-Beautiful Eyed

“What is your name?” said the grandmother and little child stared at the old woman with its round twinkling eyes.

http://rajasirji.webs.com

Psychologist Erik Erickson laid the foundations for what I can do to make my mark in his Intimacy and Generativity stage for adulthood and midlife. According to Erickson, the Intimacy stage is basically about forming relationships, caring, and accepting ourselves and others. The Generativity stage is basically about making our mark. Making our mark could be something as simple as planting flowers and volunteering. Making our mark could be grander acts of self awareness and acceptance and include philanthropy and taking responsibility for our actions.

The older I get the more determined I am to use my powers for good. I intend to express my talents in positive and meaningful ways. I will strive for healthy and positive relationships with my fellow man. I will plant a tree. I will read to my grandchildren and tell them fantastic tales of mankind. I will fish more. I will lift my head to the sky and watch the clouds by day and the stars by night.

The older I get the more of a mark I will make.

His sons and their wives all live in the 100-room four storey building along with all their children and they all share one super size kitchen where more than 232lbs of rice  and 135lbs of potatoes are cooked daily. The 39 wives do all the cooking, sharing the task equally and the daughters do all the cleaning and washing. The men do all the outdoor jobs such as farming and looking after livestock.

He is the leader of a religious sect called the Chanas, a Christian-based movement which allows polygamy. The sect started in 1942 and has around 410 super-families similar to Ziona’s (the super-polygamist). They believe in time they will rule the world. Ziona wants to expand his family further. His first wife who is now 69 married Ziona in 1960 when he was just 17.

It does seem like a good idea to have a holiday for grandparents, however, because they are often a very important part in children’s lives. Who else would spoil you and give you tons of candy and toys like your grandparents? Who else would make your favorite foods every time you go to visit? Not very many people. 

The real question is, why haven’t many people heard of this holiday before? I am kind of curious as to how many of the people reading this short article have actually heard of this holiday before. If so, does your family celebrate it, or have you just heard of it? Please leave a comment, and be honest. I want to hear everyone’s opinions.