Rushing's Ramblings

When you're in your 'golden years' and living alone, there's a distinct possibility that no one will know you've died until the odor of a decaying body becomes too much to ignore.  I didn't worry about that scene until I thought about Paddy suffering alongside my cold, dead body.  I recently mentioned my concern to some friends, who suggested I ask Marcy to contact me daily. Marcy has her hands full with a demanding career, two young children, and a husband.  She doesn't need one more task added to an already overwhelming day, so I asked her to text me daily.   After two days of receiving a text with the question, "Are you alive?" simultaneously, I realized that she had programmed the message.  I began to humor myself by responding with pictures of various distressed women. She was working close by yesterday when I received the daily message.   Me: "No."   Marcy:  "I guess I'll send the coroner."

I hadn’t thought about my brief bicycle racing years until I watched a steady stream of old folks riding bikes on the beach from my perch, far from the maddening crowd. I applaud them for their efforts with the realization that there’s no way this old woman will ever ride a bike again. After two hip replacements, followed by dislocating a hip, I figure a tumble off a bike might have serious consequences. I was fearlessly competitive in the early 80s but won only one or two races. Elite young female athletes were the regular winners. They trained many hours and miles daily, while I usually trained by commuting 35 miles round trip to work. Plus, I had a young child, a husband, and a job that needed my attention. Besides, at age 35, I was much older than the young women vying for a place on the Olympic team. Vitas, a French bicycle maker, was my sponsor. They awarded me with one of their lightweight aluminum bike frames that were highly prized during the 80s. We added expensive titaniu...

The best thing after my divorce was no longer flying in small airplanes. However, it took me a few years to recover from the fear of flying after several near-death experiences. My then-husband, Jack, thrived on high-risk experiences.  Jack enjoyed off-road motorcycle racing until he shattered his ankle after crashing off a cliff.  After graduating from law school, he still had a year or so left on the GI Bill and used it to get his pilot's license.  In exchange for providing legal assistance to a company that managed small airplanes for the owners, he could rent small aircraft anytime.  The downside of this arrangement was that we had a different plane every time, which required becoming familiar with a new aircraft each time. We flew everywhere for business and pleasure, especially since my job required travel.    One of our non-business trips was to the Indy 500.  Jack had yet to receive an instrument rating, but that didn't...

You never know who you'll encounter while waiting a couple of hours for your car to be serviced at the dealership. When you enter the waiting area, people usually sit around looking at their phones or laptops to pass the time. Conversations are getting rarer because Facebook, TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter are much more fascinating than meeting someone new. I roamed the pristine halls of the brand-spanking new dealership, grabbed a latte, and guiltily ate a delicious cookie. The first hour was spent checking my emails and scrolling through Facebook, although neither was captivating. Several of the latest models were in the showroom, which meant I felt compelled to examine a particularly handsome SUV but reacted as if lightning struck me after I saw the sticker price. When did automobiles get so outlandishly expensive? When the service guy entered the waiting area to give me an update on the expected time that the repair would be completed, one of the customers, named Dayton, was li...

  It is almost seven years since his death, and he’s still in my head and heart. The expectation of happily celebrating the holidays with friends and family sometimes reminds us of who we’re missing, which would complete that picture-perfect scenario. Jack was the great love of my life. We traveled the world and loved every minute of our time together except when his grown-ass children or the bottle interfered. Jack was the most brilliant person I have ever met and the only man to express his undying love for me and show it in many ways. The feeling was mutual. We lived in a beautiful two-story house overlooking the Intracoastal and ocean in Ft Lauderdale. Even though he wanted me to retire, I continued to work. I instinctively knew that my financial independence was more important than any destinations I might miss because of my job. Fortunately, I was able to take time off to travel frequently. Jack was wealthy and financially supported his five children, who were over 40. He on...

  The scariness of our death isn't quite as acute when we're older because most of us have accepted that it's inevitable. As the years pass, losing friends and family becomes a regular occurrence. But the death of those closest to you is brutal, especially when they are part of your daily life.   My friends fall on a spectrum of sorts. I share my deepest, darkest thoughts with a couple of close friends, and they love me despite my flaws. I'm grateful for all the friends in my life, as I understand that I'm not everyone's cup of tea.    Two very dear friends, Luni and Larry, died this year. Their loss is something I'll never "get over," even though I'm grateful they were in my life for many years. Our frequent conversations are no more, and I'll never look into their beautiful, loving, sweet faces again.   The hole in our soul when we've lost someone close never heals, but it does make us realize that we should hang on tightly to our lov...

Recently, I wrote about my long friendship with Larry. Today, I learned that he passed away a few weeks ago, which explains why he wasn’t answering my calls. Larry was 84 years old and apparently died peacefully. A former prison inmate came to live with him this past year. Larry had a habit of making pen pals with prisoners. He agreed to give his house and car to this man in exchange for living with Larry until he died. I had asked the roommate to contact me if anything happened to Larry, but he didn’t. At least I know that Larry isn’t suffering anymore from the debilitating symptoms of HIV, which left him in a wheelchair and somewhat dependent on others for his care. The following is the original piece I wrote about him a few months ago with minor revisions: Larry was a close neighbor when I lived in Dallas over 20 years ago. We spent hours on each other’s porches discussing our workday, politics, people, news, religion, opinions about various subjects, and our respective hist...