My mother was a Marine sergeant and served at Pearl Harbor. Those of you who know my writing, or know me, know she died several years ago and was honored with a full-military funeral. Women who served are working to raise money with quilt sales and bake sales to turn a pitiful wreck of a crumbling wall into a permanent memorial at Arlington National Cemetary. These women who served in World War II are dying now, one by one.

Soon, as with all of that generation, they’ll only be memories. How sad to see the material reminders of the service go down.

Here’s the story of the women who are hoping new generations of women, and men, will pick up the slack and allow women to be remembered for their contribution. Today’s military women, as the story points out, serve in combat, while our military mothers couldn’t as much. But the generations that came before us did what they could, gladly, and as volunteers to pave the way for todays’ women to serve the way they wish to.

The msnbc article says,

“Most of them are in wheelchairs and they are ill. All of their hair is white, and I look and I think, who knows how long we’ve got left. We just want to do our best while we’re here,” said Lorraine Dieterle, 84, a World War II veteran stationed in New York as a photographer for the Coast Guard who volunteers at the memorial.”

In 1997 when the current memorial was dedicated, a 100 year-old retired soldier named Freida Mae Hardin spoke to the crowd of 40,000 onlookers. I expect she’s gone now, but what she wanted was clear. If you have any way of getting involved or of helping, please do it.

More:

On rape in the military

For families, war is about fear

Resources for military women and military families

I am 60 years old. I lowered my blood pressure, lost significant weight and size, got a lot healthier, and feel wonderful. You can do it if you want to - without joining, spending, subscribing, or suffering at all. I have nothing to sell except solid advice and my experience.

Eight months ago, I turned 60 and had a rough time with the birthday. My blood pressure was high, even with meds. I had gained 20 pounds the prior year, and I have never been a small woman. I had become totally sedentary. I mean like c-o-u-c-h-p-o-t-a-t-o, mashed.

My excuses - I lived in southern Mississippi for a year - a place so hot and humid that it sucked the energy out of me. I went from doing water aerobics twice a day in my own Florida pool to sitting in a recliner most of the time, miserable, lonely, and unhappy. I moved us home to Illinois, despite my husband’s dislike of Midwestern weather. Then, he got cancer, had surgery, lost his job. My depression worsened, but I proclaimed I wasn’t depressed.

And I sat. I’m a writer. I’m supposed to sit. I medicated with food. Sugary food. Salty food. Even healthy food. Often.

My grown kids were having issues and I wallowed in theirs rather than fixing my own. Issues? I had whole subscriptions.

An old lady’s road to healthy success

People have always told me I look way younger than my age. Last year, people stopped saying that. More likely, they’d ask was I feeling ok, and when was the last time I had a physical?.

I’d say, “I’m 60″ and wait for the “Oh, I’d never have guessed!”

I heard - “Yep.” No surprise - I looked 60 and more.

So.

• Husband survived and recovered nicely.
• Kids moved on in their lives - we all do. Their troubles got fixed. More troubles came. They handled them. They don’t require me to manage their lives.
• Weather here does not prevent activity.

I began to get a clue. I could live long and prosper, or not.

I talked in depth with my doctor about nutrition, dieting, medicating with food. She said food can keep you alive or kill you. Your choice. Dieting is temporary and fairly useless unless you want to be a yoyo.  But food can be managed long term without deprivation torture.

Every human being needs physical activity to make bowels function, hearts beat, blood flow, and cells regenerate. It doesn’t matter, for a 60 year-old everyday woman,  whether that activity is 15 minutes or two-hours a day. If I do it regularly, enjoy it, and work up a little sweat, I’m doing myself immeasurable benefit. I don’t have to measure up to Dr. Oz, Dr. Phil, Oprah’s trainer, or any fitness guru. I only need to keep moving part of every day. Cool. I can do that.

But I like chocolate

I eat every food I enjoy, in normal portions. I learned I want to avoid, chemicals and poisons. I like close to nature foods. I seldom, seldom, seldom use artificial sweeteners except for a couple of hits of Truvia per week in a drink or a dessert. I drink pop once in a blue moon. I don’t add salt to anything. I avoid, but do not forbid myself sugar. I eat chocolate several times a week - almost always very dark chocolate (70% cacao or higher) and with portions controlled. An ounce, perhaps.

I had triple chocolate layer cake yesterday. I counted it in my food calculator. Worth every calorie, each bite a decadent pleasure. Over my tongue. Melting down my throat. Sweet flavor. Rich texture. I took a good wedge, gave my husband one, indulged, and gave the rest of the cake to my daughter’s family. No guilt. I don’t do guilt.

Today, I am enjoying light salads, steamed vegetables, and fresh fruit. I’m eating till I’m almost full, then I busy myself with something till I feel hungry, and do it all over.

I model my nutrition after the South Beach philosophy - their glycemic index makes sense to me - but anything that works for you is good. I am a terrific cook, and I cook Mediterranean style mostly, managing portions scrupulously.

This I know clearly -

Calories in - calories used = how much you weigh. It doesn’t matter if those calories are 100% chocolate, fat, sugar, or anti-oxidents, carbs, protein or cardboard. The math doesn’t lie. You don’t have to buy someone’s book or program to manage your health. Those things may motivate, but they are not magic.

Getting my ass off the couch

Knowing I had to get off that couch, I acknowledged the following:

1. I dislike sweating.
2. I am not cute in a leotard, nor do I feel comfortable strutting in one.
3. Pain is not my thing.

For me, the best thing is high-resistance water exercise. Advantaging a New Year’s promotion in the slumping health club industry, I joined my local club because they have three heated pools. They waived the hefty signup fee.  My life is worth the discounted $50 a month. I go three to five times a week and I work as hard in that pool as a football player in pre-season. I jog, I use dumbells, I swim, I stretch. I sweat, but who can tell when I’m in four feet of water?

• I ride a stationary bike while I watch Jeopardy, at least three times a week. It’s a 25 min workout that doesn’t bother my arthritis.
• I park my car at the back end of every parking lot.
• I store some everyday items on the second floor of my home. I go upstairs every time I need them, use them downstairs, and take them back up. I don’t send my kids or grandkids up to get anything I need.

I know this: If you increase your activity regularly and do not increase your food intake, you’ll lose weight gradually. You don’t need an exercise video. Don’t need to suffer. Just move. Sex helps, too. Good, safe, relationship sex.

Caring about yourself is a key

No matter how many resolutions I made or how much I worried about my health, nothing worked until I understood that:  I am at the last third or so of my time on Earth and I deserve to care about myself as much as I care about anyone else. If I don’t take care of me, I can’t take care of anyone else. If I don’t take care of me, no one else can.

I get in touch with my own needs, wants, and wishes.

• Can I babysit? You bet! I love those little kids. But I can’t do it every day, or for long hours. I can’t often do it without notice.
• Can I take a nap? Sure! And you can bet I’ll feel no guilt.
• I reserve the absolute right to say, “No”  to anything, anytime. No explanation required.
• I don’t negotiate my own truths, and I clearly know what they are.
• I love people, but not all people, and I’m not overly concerned about those who don’t like me. It’s unlikely I’ll  change greatly anymore - I have made many changes in myself over years, and I like who I am.
• Stress is natural and motivates us to accomplish. But stress must be managed and I am best at managing my own.
• I trust my health advisors and will do what they recommend as long as I understand all the ramifications.

What I learned and how it saved my life

I will never again be less than 60 and I have grown to be friends with that. I read somewhere that if you are alive in 2010, chances are you could live to well over 100 years old. A nice goal, I think.

Today, I went to see my doctor because I have an ugly, uncomfortable ear/sinus thing going on. Haven’t seen her in a year–since my last, rather distressing physical.

She said - “Wow! You look great! One of my youngest baby boomers!”

She took my blood pressure - remember, I’m sick with an infection and my BP is always higher in a doctor’s office. It was 120/78. I kid you not! Last reading was 148/90.

My weight has dropped by 20 pounds. My clothing size went down a whole size or more.

My heart rate was awesome. And last week, I had an eye exam.  That doctor said I have the organic eye-health of a 20 year-old. Last year? They saw floating protein gunk in my eyeball fluid and lectured me about diabetes risk.

Most days, I eat about 1500 calories. Maybe twice a week I am apt to go up to 2,000, and maybe once a month I’ll go all out and end up at 2500. I always use the next day to recover, reducing my food intake, increasing my non-sweet fluid intake, and being more physical.

I only sit at a computer or anywhere else for a max 90 min at a time. Then I get up - clean something, walk, run errands, or get active in some way before I go back to the sedentary activity.

I do things that make me smile or laugh - every single day. My grandkids are a big part of that, but so are friends, siblings, other family members, and online acquaintances.

I rest when I need to, thoroughly.

I meditate frequently and regularly with guided imagery tapes. They work extremely well for me.

I put all my troubles in two virtual buckets. A.) things I can fix and B.) things I can;t fix. I work through bucket (A) at a healthy once - recognizing my strengths and weaknesses. I reward myself for managing milestones from that bucket. (Rewards almost never involve food.) I let bucket (B) sit there and percolate. If it gets too full, I add another bucket. I spend a structure 15 minutes a week wallowing in worry about the contents, but I never take anything out of that bucket. The stuff will work itself into oblivion or into the other bucket when something has changed to permit me to handle an item.

I load my food program with anti-oxidents (who can resists blueberries, strawberries, great veggies?) healthy fats (oh yeah - give me those ripe avocados, premium olive oil, or well-prepared wild salmon!) I drink skim milk every day. I eat only foods that look, smell, and taste great. I fuss over our meals. We have selected several are restaurants that serve rational portions, don’t coat everything in salt, and really understand food preparation and cooking. I drink water all day long. I take an 80 gr aspirin a day and a multi-vitamin every other day because my Doc told me too.

I record everything I eat or drink almost every day. Probably five days a week - sometimes more. I do it scrupulously because lying to myself is pretty silly. I weigh myself sometimes, but not weekly and certainly not every day. I have found tracking weight monthly gives a realistic picture. Measuring myself, and paying attention to how my clothes fit and how I feel are much more meaningful than a number on a scale.

I don’t believe I will every be a slim woman. I never have been. Well, maybe once in 1967. I do believe a woman who is outside the recommended weights for her age can be healthy, happy, attractive, and can live long. I’m strong - I’ll take you on if you want me to! come on - Indian wrestle? Dance contest? Tug of war? I have good muscle tone - getting better. Great blood pressure. Healthy heart and a carotid scan showed less plaque than usual for my age. I’m happy, productive, talented, brilliant, healthy, and awesome as a friend or mentor. I love my own self.

And to think that I am practically an over night success! It only took me 60 years.

Read more:

Breast cancer advances may save lives

Young women strive for excellence

Having serious neglected these blogs for a month, I am back on track with a question. Has marriage become a temporary condition? While California gays expending enormous effort to gain the right to be married, fighting for same sex marriage, I wonder if heterosexuals have lost the ability to understand the entire idea.

I know a young couple, married for five years. Two children - prekindergarten and toddler. An idyllic couple, really; so in love they couldn’t wait to marry. Husband has great job. Nice home. Family support and encouragement. social life. Education. They have it all.

One day, the wife decides she’s bored. She trolls Facebook for someone to relieve the boredom. Her family watches her accumulate male “friends” on the website. Her husband, secure in knowing he provides well, helps out with the kids, runs to the grocery store when required, and tells wife she’s pretty when he thinks of it, feels pretty secure. Life is good. He believes women and men can be friends without hanky panky and he trusts his wife. He sits on his couch, a lot, watching TV. He’s tired - 60 hour work week.

Later, after it all implodes, she will tell. him she made a conscious choice to hurt him. She never articulates why. Boredom?

So the wife hooks up with a boyfriend - a guy the husband befriended when they served together in Korea, and later, Iraq, bombs bursting in air. The scumbag came to visit the couple often. Lived off them for a time - he doesn’t choose to work. Bonded with the wife while the husband slept.

The couple went on a lovely vacation with the kids. NO, not the husband and wife. The wife and the boyfriend. they traveled three states, posted photos of the happy family entertaining the children. Lovely mountain venues. Stayed with the wife’s mom for a bit. And then the wife came home, packed up three small backpacks, and ran away with the kids to another state, where the scumbag resided in a rusty trailer. He’s unemployed, of course.

Refused to come home. Husband got a court order to bring home his biological son, the toddler. Wife said - ok, fine. I have one child and a boyfriend.

The marriage has now become a “case.” The children are confused, lonely and scared. They have each lost one parent, and each other. One has lost his friends, his home, his toys, his school, his clothes, too. the wife says - hey, he’ll adjust and get over it. I have my boyfriend. But no job, no money, no prospects, no place to live. She bunks in with whatever people will have her and a child for however long.

The husband and wife send unbelievably accusatory text messages to each other more often than hourly. They phone each other on prepaid cell phones and detail what action they each will take next to make the other feel like trash. They are out to annihilate each other and it’s working.

The kids? Adjusting to an extent. On the outside. They laugh sometimes. They play, and at least one of them gets plenty of hugs. No one knows where the other is, in what conditions, or with whom.

The husband and wife aren’t gay. they have always had the right to choose a partner, create a “relationship” and marry without giving any thought to the long term. When the wedding is over and the housework sets in, the job takes over, the kids get messy and cranky, the dog pukes, and the in-laws interfere, the husband and wife have the right to dissolve the marriage.

Gays, all over the country, are petitioning and fighting for the same right. Perhaps they will get what they want and maybe they will have the good sense to figure the marriages they may create in the future are worth fighting for, not fighting about. We heteros seem to have lost that perspective. It is so damned easy to get bored, resent housework, feel tired, and run away to something else. But what happens to the kids?

Nearly every U.S. state has boiled divorce down to irreconcilable differences. You don’t have to have a reason to break up. You don’t have to think about the pros and cons. Just sign the papers, pay the lawyer, and walk away. Most women never recover financially. Most children never recover emotionally. But hey, if you’re bored with housework, you gotta do something, right?

The doldrums of winter - a blah time for everyone once the holidays are gone, winter has set in, and chances are the kids have colds or are whiny. You have cabin fever. TV is a vast wasteland - and you don’t give rat’s patoot about Jay Leno, O’Brien, or Daly. Here’s my recipe for an instant spa in a pretty little tin - a way to feel better:

I got a sample tin of Clear Mind Balm from my Twitter friends at Badger Balm. They had me when I read the ingredients:

Extra virgin olive oil, beeswax, essential oils of lemon, rosemary, grapefruit, cardamom, calendula, rosehip, and ginger.

The tin is a beautiful warm pink shade and the aroma is deep and inspiring. The company advises that it’s for clarity and focus. They call it portable aroma therapy and that’s what it is. I used half a tin in about a week. I kept stroking it on my writs, sniffing, and saying, “Ahhhh.” You can try  Badger Balm Headache & Clear Mind Duet Set if you’re interested.

I used it on my cuticles - a continuous problem in the winter. I dabbed it under my nose and my three-year old grandson’s when we had the sniffles together.

What about the spa part?

Assemble a nice candle. A relaxation video or CD. I used a CD called Celtic Spirit Meditations - a true journey that took me out of my living room and into the Ages. Headphones. A cup of scented tea -  Ginger Lemon Grass Tea by The Republic of Tea?

Sit in a cozy, soft chair in a warm room.

Mix all the assembled ingredients to your taste and do what you will with them. After 30 minutes or so, you’ll feel like a new woman. Do it again tomorrow. Blessings on you.

Read more good stuff:

Donate your old computer stuff to help others

Browsing cool web sites

A safe way to help Haiti post-earthquake

CSI, or one of those shows, talked about rape kits last week. Their premise was that thousands, even tens of thousands of rape evidence kits languish on dusty shelves throughout the U.S. Those kits have never been processed. I was astonished, and deeply upset.

Kits unprocessed means women who have been assaulted at the most traumatic level are waiting for justice. And justice sits immobilized. If the kit isn’t processed, chances are the perpetrator has been released. No trail took place.

The victim is trying to move on, but has no closure. She went through an incredibly tragic trauma and will have to go through it all over again if the authorities ever get down to processing the evidence of a crime committed against her. Look, put yourself in the position of these victims. How devalued would you feel?

But that’s just a TV show. Right? Not. I found a real story in exactly the same vein written by Courtney E. Martin. Martin is a columnist on youth and political culture at The American Prospect Online and a blogger at Feministing. She authored Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters and is part of the Progressive Women

Mother’s Day is coming. Here’s a gift to mothers, from mothers. Thistle Farms is a non-profit business run by women survivors of violence, domestic violence, prostitution, and abuse. Thistle Farms has asked women bloggers to review a lovely little book. They published it to benefit women survivors and women recovering from the effects and devastation of abuse and violence. (buy the book at Amazon or contact Thistle Farm)

I liked the warmth and reality of the little book. It’s a softcover, small format that fits nicely on a bedside table for an evening reverie before bed. The book, called Find Your Way Back Home, is a perfect way to pause for a moment in respect and empathy for our troubled sisters.

Find Your Way Back Home gives 20/20 insight into the psyche of women who have lived lives of terror. What I saw is, they are just like me. They think like me and crave the same things I seek - peace, self-esteem, a successful path.

It’s a humbling little read, reminding us of what make women the same rather than exaggerating those things that make us different. Listen to this in your heart:

The change, for me, was to love my thoughts, and even my memories. I remember the day I went to church and my grandmother sent me with her blessing, saying, “You must praise the Lord.” I am loving that memory. I am praising the little pink dress and white shoes I wore that Sunday. I am praising how big the church doors were and how small I was. The memory may not seem important, but it is enough to change me.”

Can you not feel that moment? Didn’t you have one just like it? We empower ourselves, and each other, by recognizing and holding dear the small moments in out lives that shift our paths. That’s what this book gives focus to those tiny moments.

I’ve dealt with violence against women I love - as those who follow me know. I have worked with shelters for women in three states, as a grant writer and publicist. I haven’t seen a program like this one, ever.

Magdalene is a two-year residential community founded in Nashville Tennessee in 1997 for women with a history of prostitution and drug addiction. Magdalene was founded not just to help a sub-culture of women, but to help change the culture itself. We stand in solidarity with women who are recovering from sexual abuse, violence, and life on the streets, and who have paid dearly for a culture that buys and sells women like commodities.

At no cost, we offer women a safe, disciplined, and compassionate community for two years, paid for by the gifts we receive from individuals and private grants. Magdalene stands as a witness to the truth that in the end, love is more powerful than all the forces that drive women to the streets.

The most powerful gift women can receive is a map to independence. My heart felt thanks go out to Magdalene and Thistle Farms for mapping a way.. I’m going to find a way to become their advocate and to be an outreach for them. I hope you’ll join me.

Thistle Farms sells products hand-made by the women they benefit, with proceeds going back into Thistle Farms and their residential program called, Magdalene.

Buy their products. Thistle Farms says, into every product goes the belief that freedom starts with healing and love can change lives. The book can also be found by title at Amazon.com or any bookstore.

This is a month celebrating the struggle to take back the power women had at the beginning of the world. Once, when people were just learning to be people and technology was camp fires, stone tools and using animal parts for survival, the human race figured out they needed a higher power.

The feminine aspect of God was the first personna that we recognized and worshipped. Through eons, women were respected, revered and cared for as valuable members of every nation and then something happened.

Women became second class, almost slaves. Disrespected and often abused. We have struggled long and hard to erase the negativity and repossess our collective and personal power.

We have made progress. We aren’t finished. Our daughters will finish the metamorphasis for us. There will be equal rights across the board. Someday.

Take some time out while we celebrate our history, and read a bit about women. Herstory. Refresh your memory. Think of all our sisters that came before us and will come after us.