We want our readers to pursue their athletic passions for as long as possible. This story is part of a series that aims to help make that happen. Rashelle Brown's earlier pieces were on running and cycling and she plans to share insights on how to keep on golfing and even weight-lifting.Whether they're swooshing down steep slopes or gliding silently along woodland trails, skiers are a dedicated bunch. To those who have never skied, the thought of donning bulky layers to head out into freezing temperatures might not sound like fun, but the skiers we talked to don't mind it a bit. If you're among this hearty group, we've got tips on how to keep skiing safely for decades to come.
Zuzana RogersOne Name, Two Sports
Downhill and cross-country (XC) skiing share a common name because their essential gear also does — you need skis, boots and poles for each. But experienced skiers from both camps know that's pretty much where the similarities end.
Our primary focus for this article is XC skiing, because it tends to be gentler on both the body and the budget. J. D. Downing, president of the World Masters Cross-Country Ski Association (WMA), told us that he did a fair amount of downhill skiing from childhood through college, but, "more recently the cost and risk of injury would make it unlikely that I do much downhill ever again."
However, the other skiers we talked to said that, while they primarily focus on XC skiing now, they still enjoy zooming downhill from time to time. 
Skiing Past 50? You Betcha!
Skiing is incredibly popular among adults over 50. The WMA, comprised of around 20 to 30 member nations, organizes Masters World Cup events and promotes the sport worldwide for skiers over 30. 
"Given the choice of anything, if there's snow, I'd choose to ski."
There are 14 age groups, in five-year brackets, from ages 30 to 90-plus, and they have skiers racing competitively in every bracket.
What's more, Downing said of membership, "there's definitely a bell curve, and we've seen the peak of that curve move upward in age over the past decade." In 2019, the age group with the most skiers was 65 to 69.
Apart from those serious 50-plus skiers who like to compete, many more people simply ski for the health benefits and the joy it brings.
A Lifelong Passion
A pair of friends from the Twin Cities suburbs have been joyfully meeting up to ski for decades.
Karen Casper and Kerry Bogenreif "bushwhacking" through the woods"We love everything we do, but skiing is probably our favorite," Karen Casper, 57, of Roseville, Minn. said. "When it's forty below, we're the only people that can get each other to go out."
Casper's partner in crime is Kerry Bogenreif, 61, of Lino Lakes, Minn., who said: "Given the choice of anything, if there's snow, I'd choose to ski." Both women have been skiing since their early teens and find the sport perfect for those seeking outdoor adventure in the dead of winter.
I interviewed the two together, in a Zoom video chat, and their faces lit up as they described their many adventures "bushwhacking through the woods." They've even done a winter trip in Minnesota's Boundary Waters Canoe Area, skiing from island to island across the frozen lakes that people normally canoe in summer months.
This adventurous spirit seems to be a common trait among skiers. When there's snow on the ground and he's not busy with WMA duties, Downing, 55, skis near his hometown, Bend, Ore. XC skiing has been his sport for over 45 years, and he says, "When I want to, I have the experience to ski into many backcountry areas."
How to Keep Skiing, Injury-Free
Even if you only stick to groomed trails, XC skiing is a great workout with a low risk for injury. That's one reason why it's so popular among adults over 50. 
"It's a workout that encompasses the whole body, and it's really safe for athletes of all ages," Zuzana Rogers, 49, of Anchorage, Alaska, said. Rogers is a physical therapist for the U.S. National XC ski team and the clinical director at Runner's Edge Alaska, a clinic focused on outdoor activities for people of all ages.
"I've never been injured as the result of skiing," said Bogenreif. Casper agreed, with one caveat: "Maybe just a tweak or some sore muscles when I've gone out and done too much."
Rogers said that's fairly common. "Injuries happen when there's too much, too soon, usually at the beginning of the season." With XC skiers, she said, "We see a lot of tendon overuse injuries in the lower leg, and maybe an occasional strain in the lower back."
"There's a misconception among masters skiers. We tend to decrease our lifting weights, hoping to be more careful in our workouts, but we should be doing the opposite."
Downhill skiers are also prone to overuse injuries, primarily in the knees, hips and lower back. She said that the best way to prevent these types of injuries — for both groups — is to make sure your body is ready to absorb the load you place on it. That means doing shorter XC outings and sticking to gentler downhill runs early in the season.
Another key to staying safe and injury-free is skiing terrain your body can handle. Downing said that the WMA has different courses for different age brackets: The skiers in their 80s and 90s aren't doing the same distance and grades as those in their 30s or 40s.
He's also mindful of this in his own skiing. "For me, right about age fifty, that was kind of the dividing line. I would say, maybe not act your age, but take appropriate levels of caution." 
He noted that as we age, we don't tolerate extreme cold as well as when we were younger, so it's also important to pay attention to the weather. Downing added: "Not that you're not going to still do the big things, but you need to prepare for that. Think about safety equipment and have a buddy along."
Training Tips For 50+ Skiers
When asked how skiers can prepare their bodies for the season, Rogers recommended strength training. 
Kerry Bogenreif (left) and Karen Casper"There's a misconception among masters skiers," she said. "We tend to decrease our lifting weights, hoping to be more careful in our workouts, but we should be doing the opposite. We have to be able to maintain our muscle mass in order to prevent injuries. My advice is, get back to the gym and lift heavier weights."
For Casper and Bogenreif, year-round strength training is just one part of their very active lives. In the summer they pole hike (in which you use trekking poles while hiking) paddle and run, and Casper says she regularly works on flexibility and mobility as well. 
"These days, when I'm not stretching and maintaining flexibility, I can really feel myself tightening up," says Casper.
Bogenreif, who coaches the Champlin Park High School XC team in Champlin, Minn., does a lot of core strengthening, adding: "For good skiing or good anything, the core is the key factor."
Casper agreed, and noted, "In the winter, though, there's nothing like specificity of training. That means more skiing!" 
To help with that, she recommends keeping an old pair of unwaxed skis on hand for bushwhacking through the trees and skate-skiing (a type of XC skiing where you make a skating motion versus moving in a straight line) on crusty, icy snow.
The pair's best piece of advice, though, was to find a skiing buddy and keep getting out there. "We don't get together for coffee," Bogenreif said. "Meeting indoors is pretty uncommon for us."


How To Keep Skiing Pain-Free Into Middle Age and Beyond

Rashelle Brown

Ethel Krinsky wants me dead.
Not right away. Not until I put down a $3,500 deposit on my burial plot.
Ethel also wants all my financial information: bank accounts, stocks, bonds, IRAs and all my revenue streams. I'm surprised she hasn't asked for my passwords. I assume that's coming.
"I figured funeral/burial shopping would be easy, and I told Amy I'd handle it."Ethel seems like a caring woman, but I can't help but wonder about the commission she'll make on my death. After all, Ethel is in the funeral business. And unlike my Toyota dealer, she doesn't have return customers. With Ethel, I'm one and done.
"Too far. Too country. I'm a city guy."
Until my friend Davy died suddenly of a heart attack, I hadn't seriously considered my final resting place. Davy was the first friend I made when I moved to LA in 1979. He was my confidant, racquetball partner, breakfast buddy and a man I admired and loved.
After his funeral, I began to think more seriously about the day when either I, or my wife, Amy, dies. I figured funeral/burial shopping would be easy, and I told Amy I'd handle it.
"What about where Davy's buried?" she asked. "It's beautiful."
"Too far. Too country. I'm a city guy."
To my surprise, I found a cemetery minutes from our house that checked four boxes: Jewish cemetery, urban setting, offering green burials, convenient for my kids to visit.
When I told Amy, she told me she'd always thought she'd be cremated and have her ashes spread off Cape Cod, but as we were driving to the cemetery, she said, "Turns out cremation's bad for the environment."
"Well, I'm not getting cremated. The Jewish tradition doesn't allow it."
"You don't keep any of the traditions," she argued. "I'm keeping that one," I said.
Paging Through Information 
Ethel Krinsky greeted us, handed us masks and information booklets and we began to talk. As she and Amy discussed green burials, I flipped through the booklet to get my bearings.
Basic Services: $4,000
Caskets: Price range - $1,250 to $15,000
Video Montage: $700. I figured I'd pick out some still photos in advance and ask my daughter to bring them to the service and place them in the entryway, next to the:
Register Book: $225
Shomer: $30 an hour (12-hour minimum) $360. The shomer sits with the body and prays. I don't need anyone sitting with me. I'm not going to be going anywhere.
Eventually Ethel handed us off to Dov, and we followed him outside, over to the green burial section. The cemetery was as expansive and manicured as the loveliest golf courses; the green burial area, the size of a pickleball court, was tucked far away, at the edge of the property.
I immediately liked it. It was green, and it felt tranquil and private, feelings I'm always after.  
Left With Many Questions 
Dov, a kind, middle-aged man, smiled at us as he spoke admiringly of the ecological benefits of green burials. I was ready to sign when Amy pointed at the wall across the way. "Tell us about that," she said.
"Compartments at eye level start at $17,000. As you move up or down the wall, the price decreases."
It was a wall crypt divided into hundreds of compartments that looked like safety deposit boxes. "For those who choose cremation, your urn can be stored here," Dov said. "Compartments at eye level start at $17,000. As you move up or down the wall, the price decreases."
"So for the top row where someone has to climb a ladder to slide in the urn?" Amy asked.
"Twelve thousand."
I looked at Amy, wondering how she was feeling but not wanting to ask until we were alone. Still, I had to be honest.
"I love the green burial," I said. "No pine box. Just a shroud. Simple. Dust to dust. I love that. How much for a green burial?"
"Two prices," Dov said. "Depending on whether you wish to have an individual plot or a double."  
"Next to each other?" Amy asked.
"One on top of the other," Dov explained.
"So, if I die first, I get the bottom bunk?" I asked. "Exactly, and it's cost effective," Dov smiled.
Amy and I both cocked our heads. "How much?"
"40,000 for one plot, $60,000 for a double."
Amy and I had been holding hands, and now, for the first time, I squeezed hers. It was a signal for "Let's go."  
As we drove home, we were quiet until I blurted out, "Forty for one. Sixty for two. They're bundling. Like Spectrum or T-Mobile."
I've lived in LA for 44 years, but that day I understood that I can live here, but I can't die here —not without dropping fifty grand on a small piece of land I can't build on.
Ever since our cemetery tour, Amy and I have been discussing our options. We've talked about my family's plot in Houston, but I spent my entire youth trying to get out of Houston, and I'm not going back. We've talked about Amy's family's plot in Cleveland, but I've never been a cold weather guy. 
And besides, whichever of us survives the other will have to arrange transporting the other's body halfway across the country, while mourning. Seems complicated, expensive and sad. The whole point of this pre-planning was to ease the burden on the surviving partner. Alas, we've hit a wall.
For our ages, 72 and 71, we're in excellent health, but we both know that could change in a flash. And if and when either of us faces a serious health problem — which seems inevitable —care will impact our finances, and everything else.
A Familiar Option 
Recently, Ethel Krinsky called to check in. I told her we were still discussing, but that her place was too expensive. She suggested the cemetery where her friend, Ailene, works. It's the place my pal Davy is buried.
And maybe, this is where we'll eventually end up. Our plots, side by side, facing a mountain, way out of town.
Ethel gave me Ailene's number, and when I called she crooned about their acres of beautiful space. "Wherever you're standing on our property, you have a mountain view. And we have many options, in many price ranges," she said.
"So I hear."   
"Next time you come to pay respect to your friend, please drop by my office."
"Thanks. We will," I said.
Ailene's place doesn't check all the boxes, but Amy and I are planning to drive there, place a stone on Davy's headstone, walk around. I'll talk about how much I miss my friend, how his loss has left a hole in my heart.
Amy and I will hold hands and check out the mountain views and read the engravings on people's headstones. And maybe, this is where we'll eventually end up. Our plots, side by side, facing a mountain, way out of town. Near my best friend. 


To Live, but Not Die, in LA

Dennis Danziger

When I turned 60, I thought it was the new 50. My mother was turning 90 and we celebrated together with a 60-90 party. I felt fit, I was at the peak of my career, and my brother asked me what hair color to look for when he picked me up at the airport.
Linda Nanos on her 70th birthday In our sixties, my husband and I agreed that sixty-something didn't feel old, but seventy would. 
Ten years later (a decade sounds longer), 70 doesn't feel like the new anything. I admit part of my mindset was pre-programmed. In our sixties, my husband and I agreed that sixty-something didn't feel old, but seventy would. I told my landlord that my office lease would only go up to my 70th birthday, because I would not have a commercial lease after that; he customized the terms.
This is not all subjective perspective. For most of my childhood, the life expectancy of an adult hovered around 72. I turned seventy-two, defying both my 1950's concepts of aging and the Who's song "My Generation" where Roger Daltrey famously sang that he hoped to die before he grew old. Whether subjective or objective, there are significant life passages that can't be ignored.
The Role of Family Matriarch 
I ascended to the role of family matriarch when my mother passed away six years after we celebrated our 60-90 birthdays. She was the last of her generation and left large shoes to fill. I miss her and all the elders. In the later years of my parents' lives, I had a caregiving role. When they were gone, and my son and daughter were living their own independent lives, I felt a void I needed to fill.
As if hearing my call, my role as matriarch expanded when I had three grandchildren within a three-year span. My husband and I babysit our granddaughter who lives nearby and maintain a close relationship with her. We spend as much time as we can with our grandsons who live out-of-state, whether by flying to them or having them at our home. Staying on top of the grandchildren's milestones is my new focus.
Continuing to maintain my health and be my own caregiver is critical. On airplanes, the instruction is to put on your oxygen mask first. Only in this way can you be of help to those who depend upon you. The need to maintain my own health is not only to be able to be an active part of my grandchildren's lives, but also to be independent and not a burden on my son's and daughter's busy lives.
Health and Wellness 
I always prided myself in not relying on pharmaceuticals, although I took herbs and vitamin supplements. My health has been challenged and I accepted heart medication in my daily regimen. I begin each day with a stretching routine based on the years of yoga practice, to which I added Kegel contractions for organ prolapse and breathing exercises for lung capacity.
Linda Nanos and her grandchild doing yoga togetherI barely passed a respiratory function test following a debilitating bout with bronchitis. I had dark moments with both heart and lungs on the fritz, but I finish my morning routine with affirmations of gratitude and express how I want my life to unfold: with ease. I've stepped up my holistic approach to health with homemade pear sauce served at breakfast, cooked with generous amounts of cardamom and cinnamon, for their health benefits to my heart and lungs.
With physical upkeep taking a more central role, it dovetails with the sale of my professional practice. I work part-time for the new owner which allows me to arrive at 11:00 and have a leisurely start in the morning. It's healthy for me to get up and go to a job because I've worked my entire life, you might even say I was a workaholic, but now I'm working half the hours, and have no overhead responsibilities. It's so much more enjoyable with less pressure. Reduced tension is a key to preserving health at any stage of life, especially as I advance in age.
Central to keeping a positive outlook is devoting more time to passions: mine are writing, birdwatching and reading. Everyone must find their passion. It can be a hobby, or cooking, or pickleball, but there has to be something that calls to you each day to get out of bed. 
I jump start my morning with a cup of coffee and watching the birds peck away at the feeders I fill. My evenings generally include writing articles and working on a book. I always have my next book club selection at my bedside to read.
Keeping up with extended family ties is another source of satisfaction. I send birthday greetings to nieces and nephews and their children. The children receive a token holiday gift from me. Most of them live in different states. Text chains, Wordle group, and Facebook are other ways I stay connected.  My brother and I live nearly 3,000 miles apart, but I made the trek to visit him as a birthday present to myself.
I'm more comfortable than I thought I would be as a white-haired grandmother.
My brother didn't have to ask what color hair to look for when he picked me up at the airport because it's now snow white. That change came about because of the COVID pandemic. While isolated in quarantine, I let my dyed hair grow out. I went through an awkward two-tone stage, but it's a relief to not be spending so much time and money in a salon tending to high-maintenance hair.
I'm more comfortable than I thought I would be as a white-haired grandmother. My physique has changed with age and I'm thankful for a clothing line for mature shapes and for Spandex. My doctor has a relaxed attitude about weight, so long as my numbers are within a normal range.  Admittedly, I have more work to do in this area but there should always be goals to attain.
Taking in the totality of 70, it may not be the new 60, but I'm all right with seventy for what it is: self-care, connection with family, meaningful work, and pursuit of passions. I'm laying the course for my passage through this decade.



So This Is 70

Linda Goor Nanos

According to the U.S. Geological Survey (USGS), 43 million Americans get their drinking water from domestic wells. Because these wells are on private property, it falls to the property owner, rather than a government entity, to ensure the safety of that water.
"Rural water quality varies tremendously from place to place, and is impacted largely by the area's geology, the depth of the well and the environmental threats in the area."If you live on a property serviced by a domestic well, do you know what's in your water? According to experts we interviewed, if you haven't had a certified lab test your water within the past one to three years, the answer is no.
The Potential Health Cost of 'Free' Water
For most rural Americans, having a domestic well on site is a necessary part of living out in the country. There's a hefty up-front cost to install the well when a home is built, but then the homeowner never has to pay a water bill. However, according to Sydney Evans, a Senior Science Analyst at the Environmental Working Group (EWG), this "set it and forget it" mentality poses a real health risk.
"Pathogens are the biggest concern because they can cause acute illness, rather than building up over time."
"Because domestic wells aren't regulated the same way as public utilities are, there's less data available," Evans said, "but there may be radioactive contaminants like radium or uranium, arsenic, nitrates, and depending on the age of the home, lead in the water."
Perhaps the biggest risk, though, is from microbial pathogens (harmful bacteria such as E. Coli), because well water isn't treated. According to Bruce Lindsey, a coordinator for National Water Quality at the USGS, microbial contaminants were found at much higher rates than other contaminants in testing done as part of the organization's National Water Quality Assessment project.
Both Lindsey and Evans stressed that every home on a well should test annually for bacterial contamination."Pathogens are the biggest concern because they can cause acute illness, rather than building up over time," Evans said.
Rural water quality varies tremendously from place to place, and is impacted largely by the area's geology, the depth of the well and the environmental threats in the area.
"It's a no-brainer that if you put chemicals on top of sandy soil and then irrigate the heck out of it, you're going to have problems with the water."
What's more, risk factors can change over time. That was the case for Mike Tauber, a plumber from Hackensack, Minnesota. He and his wife built their house a few miles out of town in 1995. In 2014, a large-scale agriculture company bought the land adjacent to their property. In 2018, Tauber had a test well dug near the boundary of his property bordering the new farm, and began testing the water in 2019.
"We kind of knew it was coming, so we were prepared," Tauber said. "It's a no-brainer that if you put chemicals on top of sandy soil and then irrigate the heck out of it, you're going to have problems with the water." Lab results from his test well bore this out.
From 2019 to 2021, the nitrate level in his test well was well below 1 mg/L. In 2022, it jumped to 2.5, then 4.27 mg/L in the spring of 2023. In the fall of 2023, Tauber had the water tested twice to be sure the numbers he was seeing were accurate: 9.68 and 9.78 mg/L.
The Only Way to Know Is to Test
In a written response to questions, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) stated: "The quality and safety of drinking water from private domestic wells are not regulated by the Federal Government under the Safe Drinking Water Act nor by most state governments and laws. EPA recommends that well owners test their private well annually for total coliform bacteria, nitrates, total dissolved solids and pH levels. Owners can also contact your local health department to find out what substances may be common in the area's groundwater."
"The only real way to know, though, is to test your water."
At the EWG, Evans agreed. "The first place I recommend people look is any kind of public record - from when you purchased your home, something from the company that did the well drilling or county records," she said. "It's also a good idea to check nearby municipal water results from our database. The only real way to know, though, is to test your water."
The cost of having a certified lab test for a variety of contaminants can add up quickly, so we asked about lower-cost, at-home test kits. "Without looking at the individual tests and their claims and the science behind them, I can't comment as to their accuracy," Evans said. "Your best bet is going through a certified drinking water lab."
Evans also stressed that state and federal legal limits for certain contaminants are much higher than what is considered safe for human health. The EWG has created a page with recommended safe levels for some of the most common contaminants, with a link to a PDF listing around 100 more.
Treatment Options for Contaminated Water
So far, the well servicing Tauber's home has not tested high for nitrate, but he and his family use a countertop water filter just to be safe. He used the EWG's online water filter guide to choose the one that offered the best combination of protection against the specific contaminants in his area and long-term cost.
While a pitcher filter may be cheaper up-front, the cost of buying replacement filters, which wear out quicker, means your annual cost could be a lot higher.
We asked Evans about the guide and treating contaminated water in general. She explained that there are three main types of filters: activated carbon, like most countertop varieties; ion exchange systems, like water softeners, which are better against nitrate; and reverse osmosis, which tends to get most contaminants out but is quite pricey. "They're each effective against different types of contaminants," she said, "so the type and level of contaminants in your water will determine what filter type is best."
It's also important to think about ongoing costs. While a pitcher filter may be cheaper up-front, the cost of buying replacement filters, which wear out quicker, means your annual cost could be a lot higher. "And it's super important to follow the maintenance and filter replacement schedule according to the manufacturer's instructions," Evans said. After all, the whole reason for buying a filtration device is to remove contaminants, and a spent filter won't do that.
Resources for Individuals on Domestic Wells 
For a big-picture understanding of ground and domestic well water quality, the USGS webpage on Domestic Water Supply Wells is an excellent resource.
For those who want to learn everything about well water basics, maintenance and quality, check out this library of resources from the National Groundwater Association.
The experts we talked to agreed, however, that your best resource is your county's Health or Environmental Services department. There you'll learn what contaminants may be present in your area and whether your county has a well water testing program in place.
If financial constraints have kept you from testing your water in the past, your county office should also know whether there are any free or subsidized testing and treatment programs available to you.
In Iowa, for example, free well water testing and financial aid for treatment have been offered in participating counties since 1987. According to Erik Day, of the state's Water Supply Engineering Section, more than 90% of counties are currently participating.
Other states offer free or subsidized domestic well water testing on a limited basis through one-time or recurring grants. This clickable map, published by the EPA, has links to resources for each state. Additionally, some counties and even nonprofits offer free well water testing clinics for the most common contaminants in the area.
Even if free testing and treatment aren't available in your area, it's worth spending the money to ensure your water is safe. With the average American using 82 gallons of water each day, limiting exposure to potentially harmful chemicals is money well spent. The average household on municipal water pays around $1,000 per year in water bills, so why not put a percentage of that amount toward ensuring that your drinking water is safe?


Do You Know What's in Your Drinking Water?

The letter came without warning. Or maybe I just wasn't paying attention. I've been dumped a time or two, and the tone was familiar. The message was harsh, and I detected undertones of bitterness.
"Nearly 73% of adults and 82% of children lived in wireless-only households in the second half of 2022. While about 24% of households had both landlines and wireless, a paltry 1% had only landlines."No "Dear Kathy," no nothing. It started out: "Territory AT&T California Seeks to Withdraw from as a Carrier of Last Resort (COLR) Zip Code 91505." This was so urgent that AT&T evidently didn't have time to write a coherent headline.
When I called for details, the AT&T representative sounded like she was trying to talk me out of it.  
It did, however, have a brightly colored map, right underneath that headline, just in case you momentarily lapsed on your ZIP code. Sure enough, my house was within the dotted boundaries. I read on:
"AT&T California has submitted an application to the California Public Utilities Commission (CPUC) that if approved, would remove AT&T's obligation under California law to provide traditional landline phone service in a large portion of our service territory in California."
Obligation? Oh please, AT&T, I'm no one's obligation. I've been thinking about dumping you for years, and now you're dumping me? But perhaps this was just the push I needed.
Go. No, Stay
When I called for details, the AT&T representative sounded like she was trying to talk me out of it. It wasn't going to be immediate, she reminded me, and the application to withdraw had not yet been approved.
And, she said, echoing the letter, AT&T has committed to providing service to existing landline customers for at least six months after the CPUC approves of the proposal. It sounded like, "Hey, hang on, we'll dump you eventually, just not today."
Blah blah blah. I was done . . . I think. . . . Way past time to get with it. Just how out of touch was I, I wondered, and so I did some research. According to the National Health Interview Survey, which keeps tracks of wireless versus landline homes, nearly 73% of adults and 82% of children lived in wireless-only households in the second half of 2022. While about 24% of households had both landlines and wireless, a paltry 1% had only landlines.
Let's Take a Poll
Was I the last in these parts to cut the cord? I put a photo of my landline phone with the giant numbers on Facebook and unscientifically polled my friends. I also casually mentioned my plan to dump the landline to whoever I talked to in the next few days.
The camps were divided. One was the "Are you kidding me, do you also still have 45's?" group. My twin sister Maureen, who also has a home office, said it had been 15 years since she dumped her landline; no need for it.
Escaping Telemarketers
Others cited similar concrete reasons: "We did it because of the annoying sales calls and the money," Mary Jane said. Bob gets that, saying when the ratio of real calls to "crap calls" got out of whack, it was time to say goodbye.
There was a middle ground group, folks who dumped their traditional landline but urged me to get a backup, a VOIP service such as Magic Jack or Ooma. So I called my favorite internet provider, Spectrum, to ask about their service. Cheap enough, $19.99 a month, but the rep admitted, upon my grilling her, that yes, I'd still get scam calls and telemarketers.
"We did it because of the annoying sales calls and the money."
Friends who were fans reached out to explain more. Just buy a box and . . . and . . . I was starting to get a techno-headache.
Some of my friends got sentimental. Albert keeps his landline for his 90-year-old godmother, who doesn't have a cell phone and loves to talk on the landline . . . to him. Linda kept her landline because it's her preferred mode for long chats.
Then there were the "No, Never!" folks, as in "Don't give it up." Colleen wrote, in all caps, "KEEP THAT LAND LINE!" A cell phone can go out at any time, she reminded me. Even a fully charged one.
What Am I Afraid Of?
I moved on to think about chief fears holding me back. Earthquakes. It is California. Wouldn't a landline be lots more reliable during a quake? I Googled around, finding that way back in 2015 Los Angeles began requiring new freestanding cell phone towers be built to the same seismic standards as public safety facilities. OK, just be sure you're near one of those new ones, I guess.
What if the cell provider, earthquake or not, goes down in the middle of an important conversation, or right before a phone interview for work? What if there is a giant blackout? I was thinking how improbable that was, until, on cue, AT&T announced it had a widespread cellular outage affecting thousands of its customers.
But hey, it wasn't a cyberattack, just some sort of operator error. And it didn't last forever.
Other fears seemed more manageable. What about a wet cell phone? Apple knows what to do: skip the rice; instead, disconnect, let it dry out and don't recharge for 5 hours.
But how often would all or any of this happen? Even after the worst earthquake, I have faith that Lucy Jones, our favorite seismologist at the U.S. Geological Survey and chief soother, would find a way to communicate with us.
I was almost there, but wondering why I was having so much trouble with what others clearly saw as a no-hassle, no-second-thoughts decision. I reached out to a couple therapists, requesting an interview about how to transition through changes, their specialty area. Both, when they heard the topic, cited schedules too busy to fit me in for even 15 minutes. I read that as: "Is this woman kidding me? In the grand scheme of things. . . ."
Then my friend Beverly sealed the deal. "With a cell, you've got everything in the palm of your hand: phone, news, social media, texts, video." She was right! And for me, don't forget the all-important Google map as well as apps to play with while waiting for doctors, dentists or late repair people.
That's It!
Logic won out and I made the final arrangement, this time getting an AT&T rep who sounded like she couldn't care less if I left her employer. Great. Dump day was coming up.
On the day of the unplug, I tested the headset in my home office. Nothing. I tried the phone off the living room. Also dead.
And then I enjoyed the quiet. I'm liking it even more than I thought. I still need to figure out what to do with the phone jacks in the wall.
The headset phone in my office is still on my desk, just to remind myself how far I've come. And, OK, because my granddaughter loves to play office with it and she's too young for a cell phone.
Soon, I'll pay my final bill of $10.18, and then call back about the phone jacks, assuming they're still taking my calls. Just in case that same rep is working that day.


Landline-Less, Finally, and Doing OK. I Think.

Kathleen Doheny

"What kind of coffin do you want?" the funeral director asked.
After a few more upgrades, I liked what I saw. "Can I lie down and see how it feels?"Phone to my ear, I tried to think quickly. "I'm not sure. Can I look at them when I come in tomorrow to sign?"
"You want the same one your mother had?"
"Do you still have it?" My mother had pre-paid her funeral in 2005 and died in 2009. I was pre-paying mine in 2024.
"We do. Number 344, polished oak."
Shopping for Eternity
It shouldn't have surprised me. Coffins weren't like cars, with new models every year.
When my mother went through this process, she was 91 and in tying-up-loose-ends mode; she was not nearly as sharp as she'd been in her formidable years as an elementary school principal, but her administrative side was still strong. She liked being in charge of her life, though lately she was relying on me for tasks like paying bills.
"This is better, but it doesn't look very comfortable. Is there anything softer? Maybe with a pillow?"
She and I had been in the office of the Plaza Jewish Community Chapel on Amsterdam Avenue in Manhattan, the same chapel I was on the phone with now. The questions had been similar. What is your Social Security number? How many death certificates do you want? Then came the coffin question.
"Nothing fancy," my mother had said. "Just a plain wooden box."
"Can I see what it looks like?" I asked.
Like a Cemetery, Only More Lifeless
"Sure. The showroom is on the lower level." The director rose.
"Mom, do you want to come?"
"You go. I'll wait here."
Downstairs, we entered a room that looked like a miniature cemetery — orderly rows of coffins in varying shades of brown and gray — except it was more lifeless. No sky above our heads or grass beneath our feet. No gentle hum of insects.
"This is the plain pine coffin," the director said, stopping in the middle of a row.
It was, indeed, very plain compared to those with varnished tops. I touched it. "I can't put my mother in this," I said. "She'll get a splinter. Do you have anything with fabric?"
He showed me one lined with fabric, but there was no cushioning.
Trying on a Coffin
"This is better, but it doesn't look very comfortable. Is there anything softer?" I asked. "Maybe with a pillow?"
After a few more upgrades, I liked what I saw. "Can I lie down and see how it feels?"
His face flashed surprise before he said smoothly, "No one ever asked me that, but sure, if you want to."
I took off my shoes, stepped in, and lay down. It was certainly soft, but there was literally no wiggle room. I couldn't have turned over if I'd wanted to. I closed my eyes, visualizing the lid closed and suddenly felt unbearably claustrophobic. I was up in seconds.
"Thanks," I said, putting on my shoes. "This one's fine."
Upstairs, I told my mother I picked out something fancier than a plain box, and also over $1,000 more. "Do you want to see it?"
"Whatever you decided is OK."
"All right," I said to the funeral director now. "I'll take what my mother had."
What to Wear to Your Own Funeral
"Got it. Only a few more questions," he said. "Would you like to be buried in a shroud or your clothes?"
I hadn't considered this detail. I wanted to look good. "In my clothes."
"OK. And do you want a graveside service, or one here in the chapel?"
From my experience going to funerals, I knew more people would come to a service in Manhattan than at a cemetery over an hour's drive away. I wanted a lot of people to attend. "In your chapel," I said. It was where my mother's service was.
I was never married and have no children, but I'm lucky to have a large and wonderful extended family. 
After a few more questions, he gave me the total: $14,000. It covered everything, including six death certificates, payment to the rabbi, a tip for the hearse driver and the cemetery fee for opening the grave. I was to come in the next day and pay with a bank check.
Choosing the Executors
He would forward my application and check to PrePlan Funeral Trust in Albany, where a government-backed account would be set up, with me as the beneficiary. It would earn interest, which Plaza Jewish Community Chapel would receive, but I would be responsible for paying the taxes on it.
I considered this a fair arrangement. At 81, I might live another 20 years. The cost of my funeral could be a lot higher than $14,000.
I was never married and have no children, but I'm lucky to have a large and wonderful extended family. A nephew and one of my cousins are my co-executors. I'm grateful they agreed to do this and want to make it as easy as possible for them. Hence my decision to pre-plan and pre-pay my funeral. It's also the reason I am organizing my financial records and have gotten rid of extraneous stuff.
I got a forced head-start on decluttering a year ago, when I moved from an apartment in an Upper West Side brownstone, where I'd lived for 52 years, to an Upper East Side building for older adults. While I loved my previous apartment, I didn't know how much longer I would be able to carry groceries, laundry and other necessities up and down three flights of stairs.
Drastic Downsizing
With only two months' notice of my impending move, I had to downsize quickly and drastically. I'd be going from a one-bedroom to a studio and had too much of everything: furniture, blankets, coats, flower pots, handbags, suitcases and vases, not to mention three full-size filing cabinets filled with family history, early drafts of my memoir, income tax returns and old letters. 
I had a TV set and a fax machine I no longer used, and boxes under my dining table of stuff I had retrieved when I cleaned out my mother's apartment and still hadn't gone through.
During those two months, I took inspiration from "The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning," a book laced with practicalities about how to make it easy for your relatives after you die and how to make sure they won't find anything embarrassing to either you or them. Probably the most oft-quoted of her advice is, "Save your favorite dildo — but throw away the other 15!"
I began scanning photos and documents, something I'd resisted previously because I'm from the era when hard copy was the gold standard.
Recycling the New York City Way
I made many trips to donate salable goods to the thrift shop at Housing Works, a New York City nonprofit, and several to Goodwill. I enlisted the services of Junkluggers. I invited relatives to my apartment for a rummage sale where everything was free. I recycled some things the New York City way — by leaving them on the sidewalk in front of my building and checking in a few hours to ascertain that they were gone.
If it were to be my own clothes, one of my relatives would have to come to wherever I was living, pick them out, and bring them to the funeral home ahead of time. That defeated the purpose of making it as easy as possible for them.
By the day of my phone conversation with the funeral director, I had been living in my studio for 11 months. It has good feng shui — everything I need, little I don't, with plants in window boxes and art on the walls. It is "ready" for my death and also functional enough to live in for another 20 years.
I lay in bed that night relieved to have started the funeral process but also unsettled — though not necessarily in a bad way. I tried to relax with the midnight refresh of Wordle in my New York Times games app, then thought again about what I wanted to be buried in.
A Hitch in the Plan
If it were to be my own clothes, one of my relatives would have to come to wherever I was living, pick them out, and bring them to the funeral home ahead of time. That defeated the purpose of making it as easy as possible for them. For the first time in months, I didn't finish Wordle.
The next day, sitting across from the director in his office at Plaza Jewish Community Chapel, I told him I changed my mind. I wanted to be buried in a shroud.
He made a notation on the paperwork. "I quoted you $14,000, and I'm not going to change that," he said. "I won't charge you for the shroud."
"Thank you," I said. Then a thought occurred to me. "Does the shroud cover your head?"
"Yes."
"I don't want my head covered." Too suffocating.
"I'll make a notation not to use the head covering."
A Burden Lifted
The application was several pages long. I looked it over, signed where he indicated, and gave him a bank check.
"You'll hear from Pre-Plan within a week. They'll set up the trust and let you know your account number. You can keep track of it online, like a regular bank account." We shook hands.
As I walked out into the sunshine on Amsterdam Avenue, I was surprised at how light I felt, like a kite floating on the wind. I wanted to shout to the world, "I made arrangements! I don't have to worry if I die! Everything is taken care of!"
Instead, I walked the few blocks to Trader Joe's, where, as an older adult, I'm entitled to go to the head of the checkout line. I was out in five minutes, with my celebratory box of mochi-covered vanilla ice cream. I began eating the refreshing dumplings on my walk home through Central Park and finished them all before I was halfway there.
Pre-Paid Peace of Mind
The next day, I looked at the paperwork more closely and was dismayed to see my name listed as Vivian Cohen, not Vivian Conan. It could be fixed, I knew, yet I felt a sense of urgency. What if I died before it was straightened out? But within a few days, I was safely Vivian Conan again, able to access my account online, print it and mail the information to my nephew and cousin.
In the month since I made my funeral arrangements, the glow has continued, like a background feeling that all is secure. I realize I did this as much for myself as for my nephew and cousin. I have long been wondering when and how I will die.
Pre-paying didn't give me answers, but it did give me some sense of control, as did downsizing and moving. Partial control is better than no control. It's enough to leave me with more energy to continue living my life and doing what I love: working part-time as a reference librarian, singing in a choir, folk dancing, taking writing workshops, visiting my many cousins, nieces and nephews, and going out with friends.
When my time does finally come, I will be able to say, to paraphrase my favorite poet: Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me. I did not expect him quite so soon, but I am ready. My papers and my house are in order.


Putting My Affairs in Order

Vivian Conan

I've taken to calling it The Oreo Dilemma.
When faced with a plethora of possibilities, we may throw up our hands and make bad decisions — or no decision at all.A bit of backstory: For some logical-to-me (but eccentric-to-the-rest-of-the-world) reason, I started taking pictures of Oreo displays at supermarkets a few years back when I realized that Oreo cookie options went way beyond regular and "Double Stuf."
My photographic inventory now stands at 34 varieties, including Hot & Spicy Cinnamon, Red Velvet, Chocolate Hazelnut, Caramel Coconut, Cherry Cola, Piña Colada, Rocky Road and "Firework" (not sure what flavor that last one might be).
Turns out I am such an amateur.
An Ocean of Options
My reconnaissance reveals only the very tip of a veritable Oreo iceberg. Online sources tell me that the folks at Nabisco have dreamed up more than 200 Oreo varieties over the years. It's not just Oreos, of course. Doritos have come in 198 flavors over the years; Cheetos 133; and M&Ms 61.
"The more complex the decision, the greater the number of options, and the more voluminous the information, the worse our decision-making becomes."
And our supermarket shelves have nothing on Amazon. This morning I had the occasion to shop for a "cat toy plush ball launcher." (Don't ask.) My search query resulted in almost 400 options. What?!?
You might say, "What are you complaining about? You have choices! It's called freedom! Liberty! It's American!"
But nearly all of us have experienced the pernicious effects of having just too many options. Psychologists call it "choice overload" and "analysis paralysis." When faced with a plethora of possibilities, we may throw up our hands and make bad decisions — or no decision at all. That may be no big deal if we are buying cookies but can be life-changing if we're selecting a retirement plan or a health insurance policy. And we could harm our mental health in the process.
What's Going on Here?
Let's go back to the beginning: Americans are, first and foremost, rugged individualists. We want the freedom to choose for ourselves. It's kind of our defining quality, even our origin story — you know, life, liberty and the pursuit of the best deal on Black Friday.
"When there is too much choice, we get paralyzed, not 'liberated.' "
Barry Schwartz, author of the seminal book on the topic — "The Paradox of Choice: Why More Is Less" — says the belief that an abundance of choice is innately positive has become "the official dogma of all Western industrialized societies." From the get-go, we Americans embraced "The Wealth of Nations," Adam Smith's philosophical treatise extolling the magic of free markets. (Coincidentally, the book was published in 1776.)
But when Smith wrote about the "invisible hand" of free-market capitalism working to ensure the best possible outcome, he wasn't flummoxed by 34 (or 200!) varieties of Oreos. Or the more than 8,000 mutual funds available in the U.S. Or the 700 typefaces on Microsoft Word. (Trust me: go with Cambria.)
"The paradox is this: We think that more choice means more freedom," explains Schwartz, "but what my book shows is that when there is too much choice, we get paralyzed, not 'liberated.' "
How Much Choice Is Enough?
Certainly, when we have no choice, "life is almost unbearable," Schwartz notes in his book. Having a certain amount of choice can be a powerful and positive thing, he adds. But as our options increase, "the negatives escalate until we become overloaded."
"At this point," he asserts, "choice no longer liberates, but debilitates."
This dilemma can be better understood by looking at how we do — or don't — make our decisions.
In his book, Schwartz outlines an optimal decision-making process including the following steps: 1) know your goals and criteria; 2) gather information (options available); 3) evaluate the options vis-à-vis your goals and criteria.
But few of us actually follow these steps. It turns out that humans kinda stink at decision-making. Schwartz says that even under auspicious circumstances — with enough time and a manageable number of options — we are "very imperfect decision makers." We have difficulty defining what we want and an even more arduous time gathering and evaluating the options.
When we add in a nearly endless array of choices and decision points, our imperfect decision-making capabilities actually turn on us. "The more complex the decision, the greater the number of options, and the more voluminous the information, the worse our decision-making becomes," says Schwartz.
An Entertainment Avalanche
And we are — quite simply — drowning in choices.
Examples can be found everywhere, and most are pretty drastic when viewed historically. Here's one: I grew up in the 1950s and '60s. My family felt very fortunate to own a black-and-white console television. We built an altar to it in our living room and, since I was the youngest of seven, I rarely got a vote on which of the three stations to watch. I was just happy to be in the room.
Enter the American Home Entertainment Experience today. As of July 2023, there were 6,621 movies, series and specials — on Netflix alone. And, by one calculation, we currently have over 200 other streaming services to choose from.
Myriad challenges — beyond the Oreo universe — await us at the grocery store. Indeed, Walmart Supercenters stock an average of 142,000 different products.
Enter the Internet, "a warehouse with infinite floor space," according to Schwartz. Surely the queen of confusion is Amazon. It's estimated that there are over 600 million products listed on Amazon alone.
The Negatives of Choice Overload
It's no wonder that our decision-making capabilities are abysmal. Or that our souls are a bit battered.
According to Schwartz, there are three areas where problems arise due to this deluge of options: 1) paralysis (we're so overwhelmed we fail to make any decision); 2) we make objectively worse decisions (the cognitive burden of evaluating so many options undermines decision-making); and 3) we make subjectively worse decisions (with more regret and less satisfaction).
"The more decisions we face, and the more options we encounter, the greater the fatigue. This leads to errors and saps our energy to do other things."
In his book, Schwartz cites research that these negatives lead, for many, to less happiness and optimism, more enervation, indecision, anxiety and, ultimately, depression.
It's the cumulative effect of the many, many decisions we need to make every day that does us in, says Schwartz. He uses the late economist Fred Hirsch's description of this phenomenon: "the tyranny of small decisions."
"It takes mental work to make decisions," explains Schwartz. "The more decisions we face, and the more options we encounter, the greater the fatigue. This leads to errors and saps our energy to do other things."
Schwartz' book was published 20 years ago. Today, he says, overwhelming choice is much more problematic. "In my view, the internet has turned a problem into a nightmare," warns Schwartz. Along with the urge to acquire a plethora of material goods, the World Wide Web delivers a compulsive pursuit of perfection and a phenomenon called fear of missing out, or FOMO — all on steroids.
How to Overcome Decision Distress
What's the answer? Don't count on Microsoft to start limiting your typeface selection to Times New Roman or Calibri. Toffee Crunch Creme Oreos and Flamin' Hot Nacho Doritos are unlikely to disappear from grocery shelves. And we won't be going back to black-and-white TVs with three channels any time soon.
But that doesn't mean you don't have, er, choices. Here are a few tactics recommended by Schwartz:
1. Choose when to choose. Simply opt out of some decision-making.
In a 2012 interview in Vanity Fair, President Barack Obama indicated that he has adopted this choice-overload strategy. He gave his wardrobe as one example. "You'll see I wear only gray or blue suits," he said. "I'm trying to pare down decisions. I don't want to make decisions about what I'm eating or wearing. Because I have too many other decisions to make."
2. Seek "good enough" rather than "the best" when making decisions.
In his book, Schwartz calls this approach being a "satisficer" (a term coined by the economist Herb Simon versus a "maximizer." Maximizers strive to always make the best decision, while satisficers settle for "good enough." They still have standards, but when they find an item that meets their criteria, they stop. (Ultimately, satisficers are happier; maximizers are more likely to be clinically depressed.)
3. Regret less.
Schwartz tells the story of a friend who had been ruing — for four decades — his failure to attend an Ivy League college. In the words of Elsa, heroine of the animated movie "Frozen," "let it go."
4. Take advantage of "habits of choice."
Two words here: Miracle Whip — my default salad dressing. It's what Mom used and it's "good enough" for me.
5. Curtail social comparisons.
Quit trying to "keep up with the Joneses." "Focus on what makes you happy and what gives meaning to your life," says Schwartz.
6. Cultivate gratitude.
Schwartz is also a big fan of developing an "attitude of gratitude." It's really the opposite of making those social comparisons, focusing, instead, on the positives in your life. Schwartz recommends keeping a gratitude journal.
"You may find yourself feeling better and better about your life as it is," he says, "and less and less driven to find the 'new and improved' products and activities that will enhance it."


Drowning in Decisions

Marie Sherlock

Looking for good news? Things are looking up in several areas of physical and mental health. With science-backed information, it's often possible to allay fears or take simple steps that pay off for ourselves or our loved ones. Here are five examples. 
Because of the links between brain health and heart health, people 45 and older can lower their risk for dementia by caring for their heart: managing hypertension and diabetes, exercising 2.5 hours a week, and eating a nutritious diet in moderation.You Can Reduce Your Risk of Dementia 
A nutritious diet, physical activity and disciplined sleep habits all contribute to a lower risk of Alzheimer's and related brain illness. "Maintaining a healthy, diverse, nutritious diet is going to be beneficial," says Thomas Holland, MD, of Chicago's Rush University Institute for Healthy Aging — as well as keeping up socially, engaging your brain, reducing stress and more.
"As many as 40% of dementia cases can be attributed to modifiable risk factors." 
A paper in the scientific journal Alzheimer's & Dementia has outlined 11 ideas on six topics. "As many as 40% of dementia cases can be attributed to modifiable risk factors," the paper states. In other words, you have a lot of control here.
Because of links between brain health and heart health, people 45 and over can lower their risk by caring for their heart: managing hypertension and diabetes, exercising 2.5 hours a week, and eating a nutritious diet in moderation. Get sleep problems and eating patterns checked out. Take steps to avoid loneliness and social isolation, and keep learning something new: cooking, dancing, music, games, crafting or the like.
Holland focused on diet in a long-term study published in the journal Neurology. Among healthy older people, he found a link between higher intake of flavonols — the building blocks of kale, beans, tomatoes, apples, olive oil and other fruits/vegetables — and reduced risk of developing dementia.
Cataract Surgeries: Faster and Virtually Pain Free 
Decades ago, patients' cataract surgery involved multiple hospital days "with their heads surrounded by sandbags to prevent movement," says Jeff Pettey, MD, vice chair of clinical affairs at University of Utah Health John A. Moran Eye Center.
Modern outpatient surgery often takes about 10 minutes (not counting preparation and some observation afterward), he adds. Use of ultrasound and a smaller incision — just 2 to 3 mm — has shortened both procedure and recovery. 
Decades ago, patients' cataract surgery involved multiple hospital days "with their heads surrounded by sandbags to prevent movement." 
In addition, "for 95% to 99% of patients, it's a completely painless operation" due to topical numbing drops, says Lloyd Williams, MD, assistant professor of ophthalmology at Duke University School of Medicine.  
Unfortunately, cost poses complications. "Insurance covers the cost of the surgery and a quality lens that focuses light at one distance. This lens allows patients to see far away or up close, but not both," says Pettey. 
A third alternative that insurance covers is distance vision in one eye and close vision in the other, "which for some people solves the reading-glasses problem quite well," says Williams. "These lenses are in my opinion the clearest and highest-quality vision you can get, but they require you to have glasses for some activity — and if you have any significant astigmatism, you will need glasses for it."
"Insurance does not pay for astigmatism-correcting lenses, which would be an out-of-pocket expense for the patient," Pettey stresses. "Likewise, there are some lenses that aid in a patient seeing [both] near and far. However, these lenses are also an out-of-pocket expense." Affordability of advanced lenses may be something to discuss with your family and financial adviser.
Suicides Among Older Veterans Are Down 
Rates fell by 8.1% for vets 75 and older and 2.2% for those ages 55 to 74, according to the Veterans Administration's 2023 National Veteran Suicide Prevention Annual Report, which covers through 2021.
Enrollment in Veterans Health Administration care makes a difference, as do programs for secure firearm storage, crisis intervention and community-specific suicide prevention. Vets took advantage of Veterans Crisis Line call, text and chat functions, for example, and a telehealth effort offering evidence-based therapy for suicide prevention.
79% of veterans age 60+ "rate themselves as aging successfully."
Meanwhile, 79% of veterans age 60+ "rate themselves as aging successfully," says Michelle J. Karel, Ph.D., National Mental Health Director, Geriatric Mental Health, in the Veterans Health Administration Office of Mental Health and Suicide Prevention.
She cites the National Health and Resilience in Veterans Study, which shows that despite downsides such as trauma and potential disability, veterans often show what she calls "protective characteristics" such as a perceived purpose in life, optimism and gratitude, and community integration and connections.
A Faster MRI
Artificial intelligence has reduced time spent in these noisy, cramped MR (magnetic resonance) machines by at least half, according to major manufacturers.
"With AI [artificial intelligence] – based techniques, we can now scan up to 50% faster with the same or even better image quality," says Fotis Vlachos, chief marketing officer of MR at GE HealthCare and a leading MRI maker.
At another, Philips, Clinical Leader in MR Gwenael Herigault explains the result as "shortening overall exam times significantly, down to 5 or 10 minutes as opposed to 20 minutes or more … [because] AI has been able to remove 'noise' from images without removing anatomical details." Staff can now spend some of the saved time alleviating patient anxiety, he says, which is key to increasing the exam's success.
"We found that adults with hearing loss who regularly used hearing aids had a 24% lower risk of mortality than those who never wore them."
Plus, Vlachos says, such advances apply to more than 90% of exams, "so most patients will benefit from AI" — especially as most MRI machines or upgrades GE has installed in the past two to three years include them. All this means not just less time inside the scanner but a shorter wait for an appointment and for results.
Hearing Aids Linked to a Longer Life 
Hear better, live longer, suggests a study newly published in The Lancet Healthy Longevity. "We found that adults with hearing loss who regularly used hearing aids had a 24% lower risk of mortality than those who never wore them," lead researcher Janet Choi, MD, MPH, an otolaryngologist with the University of Southern California (USC), told Science Daily.
This long-term study by researchers at USC's Keck School of Medicine looked at data from the National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey for the years 1999–2012. The data covered nearly 10,000 adults who were tested for hearing ability and completed questionnaires about use of hearing aids. The adults' average time in the study was 10 years.
Of those with hearing loss, the 24% lower risk of dying during this period for those who regularly used hearing aids persisted despite differences in age, ethnicity, income, medical history and severity of hearing loss, researchers found. Using a hearing aid only occasionally apparently offered no benefit in terms of life extension.
Why do hearing aids help prevent early death? The study doesn't answer that, but Choi notes other studies that connect use of hearing aids with a decrease in depression and dementia. Says Science Daily, "She speculates that the improvements in mental health and cognition that come with improved hearing can promote better overall health, which may improve life span."


5 Good-News Items on Health

Ellen Ryan

It's a Sunday afternoon in 1977 and my 10-year old self is with my father in the basement helping with a repair project. Blue Maxwell House coffee cans line the wall, filled with useful metal bits and a hurricane glass sits next to its kerosene base on a bookshelf. 
We stand next to the furnace that rumbles now and then, our heads bent over the open jaws of the vise. My father demonstrates how to twiddle the handle to push the opposing blocks of metal closer and closer to the piece of wood, pressing it snug.
Tools used to fix the wiggly bridge"Hand me a nail." he says. I hand him a nail. "Hand me the hammer." I hand him the hammer. The afternoon proceeds in this manner, serious and scripted. Did I ever ask to use the hammer myself? Did he ever offer? I can't be sure. I'd like to give him that possibility. Maybe I wasn't that interested in hammers or nails. I just wanted to be there with my dad, doing something simple and right. 
Did I ever ask to use the hammer myself? Did he ever offer? I can't be sure. 
Years later, as a frugal feminist, my tool-deprivation and secondary role irked me. Why was it that all the guys took 'shop' in middle school and I took 'home-ec?' Why was it that I saw myself only in the helper and cleaner-upper role on those Sunday basement afternoons?  
Here I was paying people to fix my stuff. And I was outsourcing joy — earned by problem-solving and fixing with my own wits and hands.
A Light Bulb Went Off
In my early 50s all that ended along with my marriage when I had to replace a recessed light. "I can do that," I thought. I took the bulb to the hardware store and found its twin. At home, no matter how many YouTube videos I watched, the new bulb would not fit.  
A catty voice in my head said: "How long does it take a divorced woman to change a lightbulb...?"  A different voice countered, "What would you say to a friend?" and answered, "Go to the hardware store and ask the experts."
My local ACE hardware is a mix of country store and bougie boutique. Antique baseball bats line the walls and I covet their $26 art-deco nightlights. Within 5 seconds of entering you'll hear: "Can I help you find something m'am?" At the key counter I found Johnny ("How can I help you?"), a Midwestern gentleman with rimless spectacles and a kindly, curious nature. 
I told him my story and asked, "Do you know how to fix this?" He said, "No, I don't. But I bet together we can figure it out."
Years of expecting expertise in others and denying my own responsibility and power dissolved with Johnny's words. We inspected the metal collar; we gazed at the bulb. My hands discovered that if I held the collar base and squeezed the pins on the side and he put the bulb in, the satisfying click happened. A design flaw! Only larger hands could do both tasks at once. 
Meeting a Patient and Kind Teacher 
Soon after, I lucked into a patient and kind teacher in the world of fixing and making. We met at a local dance. His top hat, bespoke patterned coat, gray cargo shorts and white knee-high shrimper's boots caught my eye. I asked, as we danced (he mysteriously graceful in his rubber boots) "Are you an artist?" He gazed distantly and said, "It's more complicated than that." 
Wiggly bridge opening, 2019Over tea the next day he said he works summers at various dance and family camps; one in the Catskills where he is rebuilding a suspended bridge. Would I like to join him for a week of music, dancing and bridge-repair? A day later, after googling the heck out of him, I said, why yes, yes I would.
He picked me up in his Honda Odyssey, the back seats removed, the floor a collage of carpet remnants, coils of thick rope, hacksaw blades, socket wrenches, drift punches, a level; though at the time I didn't know their names. At night he threw down faded cushions from his 1968 VW bus, fell asleep and snored. I lay there at the rest-stop and listened to the hum of 18-wheelers idling nearby and in the glare of the lights wondered and smiled at what I was doing with my "one wild and precious life." 
Getting to Work 
On that first morning at camp we approached a red shed in a green field where a few sheep nibbled nonchalantly. I envied their ease. I dreaded the first impression as the only woman in the shop with the young guys in their day-glo T-shirts and Timberland boots. The hard-rock oldies on the radio and the scent of sawdust felt familiar. 
The guys were sunny and more interested in their show-and-tell and jokey ribbing than in me. My friend put me to work in the shelter of a 1956 Rockwell drill press with a simple task: drill holes in the stanchions that would hold the hand-ropes. 
A soothing rhythm developed as my fingers set the plastic ratchet clamps to hold the wood and slowly lowered the drill bit as wood particles flurried away. The repetition relaxed and satisfied. I could focus on one thing. That thing was do-able. It didn't involve complex emotions or unpredictable scenarios. It wasn't gendered or hard or something held by a priesthood. 
Wiggly bridge opening, 2019Soon the movement of clamp to wood, metal bit to wood became one graceful action. My fingertips found a spiky edge where the drill bit broke through. For every problem there was a tool to solve it —hello, Shinto wood rasp! I enjoyed the rasp's toothy grasp on the wood and smoothing effect. "We're not making furniture here," my teacher chided.  
As on all bridges in folk tales, I wrestled. My impatient desire to prove a point to myself and resentment of gendered expertise conflicted with the slow pace and the fact I was a novice with a guy who knew more than I did. And like most work, it wasn't all exciting power-tool wielding action. There were simple repetitive tasks, like gooping anti-seize paste onto every bolt on the bridge, or tying clove hitches over and over.  
I returned to humility and gratitude. Given the major shifts in my life, where else would I rather be than here, being of use, on a wiggly cable bridge looking out over a clear pond with mist rising off of it and a thick margin of wild green in the distance? 
Building Connections 
Like the nursery rhyme "This is the House that Jack Built" I understood that every part of what I was doing held a future human relationship. If the stanchion can't be built, then the hand-rope won't support the children's hands. If the children's hands won't be supported, they can't cross the bridge. If the children can't cross the bridge, the connection between the old camp and the new camp will be lost; the bridge will exist only in memory. 
When you pick up a tool, you animate it with your energy and your intention. My mentor said, "People say, "Man, I can knock that out in an hour! Your volunteer is gonna take 6 hours to put those rivets in." And I say, "yeah, but when she walks by those rivets later, she's gonna feel they're hers."  
In that moment I felt that in fixing material objects, the world is made well in some small way, and something inside is fixed too. 
That light in my kitchen became a symbol of my ability to take care of myself and to collaborate with others. It sparked a belief in my ability to problem-solve and use tools. Working on the bridge became proof that in the aftermath of emotional discord and weariness, self-renewal was possible.
For the first time in 10 years, the "wiggly bridge" of camp lore came to life. My mad hatter showed up in magenta Alice-in-Wonderland leggings, a burgundy brocade coat and his signature top hat. He lined up the children, "Youngest to oldest! Two by two!" between pips of his whistle. 
The children's hands held the guide-ropes I had pulled through the stanchions. Their hesitant steps became confident as they giggled at the bridge's bounce and sway. My teacher merrily tapped planks of the bridge with his black umbrella as he led the parade. 
I leaned against a tree and watched as the children and mothers crossed the bridge, serenaded by fiddles, guitars and song. In that moment I felt that in fixing material objects, the world is made well in some small way, and something inside is fixed too. 


If I Had a Hammer

Moira Bucciarelli

Some memories remain fresh for decades.
When I took my first airplane flight as a child with my father, the sky was a blanket of dark gray. As we ascended through the layers of clouds, I was gobsmacked by what suddenly appeared outside my window: the sunny blue sky! It was the first time my child-brain realized a gray sky did not mean the sun was absent — it was just hidden.
"My father was a model of optimism for nearly a century, from fighting for civil rights in the 1960s to joining a group called "Beyond War" in the 1980s to self-publishing an environmental newsletter in the 2010s."I turned to my father to share this astronomical hide-and-seek revelation, and he was amused. Together we chatted about how yes, the sun is always "above" the clouds, even on the darkest and rainiest of days. Hence, in some ways "every day is a sunny day," I surmised, and he did not disagree.
He would acknowledge the world's problems, but he would also take action with unflagging optimism for the future.
This example of my father's gentle scaffolding of my childhood reasoning and budding optimism is one of my favorite memories of him. Sadly, he passed away a couple years ago at age 92, and what I miss most is his optimism about the world even in the face of our culture's penchant for pessimism.
Let's face it: Today's "bad news" media saturation can be overwhelming — environmental degradation, political rancor, civil and religious strife, etc. But my father was a model of optimism for nearly a century, from fighting for civil rights in the 1960s to joining a group called "Beyond War" in the 1980s to self-publishing an environmental newsletter in the 2010s. He would acknowledge the world's problems, but he would also take action with unflagging optimism for the future.
Themes for an Optimistic Life 
So imagine my solace when I was going through his beloved book collection after his death and found one titled "What Are You Optimistic About? Today's Leading Thinkers Lighten Up." Edited by John Brockman, the book asks a variety of scientists and commentators what they are optimistic about in today's world.
Among its many topics, the book conveys several of my father's themes for an optimistic life:
 1) Start with gratitude
It's easy to forget all the scientific advances we take for granted. Examples include the democratization of knowledge via the internet and the significant improvements in infant mortality rates, gene research and healthy aging. When I was a kid, I fantasized about jet packs and video phones. While we're still waiting for jet packs, take a moment to appreciate FaceTime. (Indeed, my "sunshine is the default" moment would not have happened without the technological wonder of air travel.)
Vincent O'Keefe and his father, EdAs Kai Krause notes in the book, every so often be sure to re-appreciate the smartphone. In our pockets we now have our "own diviner of answers to any question, finder of any fact, in minutes or even seconds, an advisor like no Sun King or emperor, kaiser or pharaoh, could ever buy with all the gold in his empire."
2) Take the long view
Sometimes using a wider perspective can help reframe today's problems. For example, even though large-scale issues like disease, war and poverty persist, when viewed historically our era has improved in many of these departments. In the book, Chris Anderson adds that most "reporting of trends shows a world that is getting better. We live longer, in cleaner environments; we are healthier; we have access to goods and experiences that kings of old could never have dreamed of."
The long view can also help remind us of the power of human imagination. As Alison Gopnik explains, "the greatest human evolutionary advantage is our innate ability to imagine better alternatives to the current world." She notes that "everything in the room I write in now . . . was once imaginary, no more than an optimistic pipe dream."
3) Remember to laugh along the way
Robert Provine advocates an unusual, humorous mindset to help stay optimistic: "Things could always be worse." In a counterpoint to Gopnik's celebration of imagination, Provine states: "We have all heard of the 'grass is greener' syndrome. This is its 'grass is browner' counterpart, the achievable antidote for broken dreams and bolsterer of the status quo."
Provine's amusing approach reminded me of another decades-old memory, this time from my teen years. While working at a grocery store, I saw two men who looked to be in their 80s approach each other slowly. They were obviously friends because the one greeted the other by saying with a smile: "I should just tell you what doesn't hurt today!" As they laughed, I thought: That's how I'd like to be at their age! It may not have been full-throated optimism, but their interaction modeled how humor and gratitude can "bolster" the status quo.
Like light still traveling from an extinguished star, his guidance continues.
Speaking of the "status quo," however, it's important to note that optimism should never be a naïve, head-in-the-sand mindset. We are not, after all, "beyond war" as a species. And as my father's activism shows, he was usually in favor of improving the status quo. But the problems of the world can keep knocking us down if we don't find ways of picking ourselves up, dusting ourselves off, and optimistically continuing to try to improve the world.
I'll never forget one day in my 20s when I did not yet have children. I saw one of my wife's friends with her two young daughters. The mother was a very petite woman, and the older child was already approaching the same size as her mother. Suddenly, the girl implored her mother: "Pick me up!" 
The mother grimaced and looked at me. In my surprise, all I could think to say was "what do you do when your kids get too big to pick up?" She sighed, smiled, put out her arms, clumsily raised this daughter who was almost larger than herself, and said: "You just keep picking them up."
That is how I felt upon finding my father's book about optimism. There he was, parenting me from beyond the grave, metaphorically picking me up again and pointing me in a sunnier direction. Like light still traveling from an extinguished star, his guidance continues.


My Father's Legacy of Optimism

Vincent O'Keefe

There is power in talking openly about mental health and mental illness. Featuring expert insight and personal stories, find support and resources on how to challenge stigma and rethink mental health as we age.

The Retirement Gap is a real-life problem. Learn how to prepare for whatever retirement may look like for you.

Growing a business means managing change. Read how entrepreneurs like you have done just that and found resources to succeed.

Nationwide workshops and festivals offer community for aging artists

Talking About It: Aging and Mental Health

Perceptions on Wealth in Retirement

Navigating Change

Art + Aging in Community