Gaming for Seniors

Tags

games, humour, midlife crisis, video games

As a parent, I normally take great pride in my children’s accomplishments. I’m pretty sure it’s a written rule somewhere in The Parenting Handbook…which was buried centuries ago on Oak Island. But I’m competitive too, and that’s not always a good thing. Especially when those accomplishments overlap. I’m pretty sure there’s also something in that handbook about being a gracious loser, and I am. Or at least I try really hard to be. We all have our moments of parenting fails, and that’s when we have to admit our mistakes and trust our kids are gracious with us.

Don’t worry – I’m not writing about a parenting fail. At least, not right now.

It’s no secret I like video games. The obsession interest took shape just before Big Guy moved out. He got me hooked on Guitar Hero. And since his Xbox 360 went with him, he conspired with Hubby to give me my very own. I’ve wasted hours of my life since.

Unlike Little Guy, I’m not obsessed with earning all the trophies and racing through the levels. I try to enjoy the journey. Until I get stuck and force one of my kids to get me over the hump. I’ve helped them through a few too, but at an ever decreasing rate. Worse, I’m at a higher level than both of them, but can’t seem to kill it quite the same way. And the algorithm groups me with players who are levels below me.

It can be frustrating!

In the Summer, after a particularly brutal game of Monopoly, I felt conflicted, so I wrestled through this question: When did my kids get better at everything than me (leaving me feeling like a washed up loser who is ready to sit in a senior centre and weave baskets while singing Kum Ba Ya)?

An aging gamer, Theo Karasavvas described gaming in his younger days as “breathing…then all of a sudden, after thousands of hours spent playing across genres and platforms, boredom hit me hard for the first time”. He assumed he need only find a different game to stimulate his interest once again. He also blamed more responsibilities and stress in life for ruining his appetite. But is his reasoning completely accurate?

Sure, our appetites changes as we grow older, but (sometimes sadly) so do other things. Like our priorities, our sense of accomplishment changes too. High scores pale compared to a lower body mass index, especially as muffins tops sprout exponentially with every decade.

The desire to compete also decreases with age. The core gaming market targets 18-30 year olds. Many of the first-person shooter-style games, like my favorites, Halo & Overwatch, take time to develop skills. Older gamers simply don’t want to invest that amount of time, and prefer slower-paced, or solo games.

And who can forget that our bodies and brains are slowing down with every passing birthday! We tend to buy into the lie that we can’t keep up with our younger counterparts and our struggles become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Sometimes we can’t keep up, but gaming continue to have benefits as we age.  There are a number of reasons why I play video games. And as long as my kids don’t mind if I sometimes slow them down, I’m going to keep playing. This “senior gamer” prefers to call it – leveling up!

Happy weekend!

The Golden Touch

Tags

hair, haircuts, humour, little old ladies, midlife crisis

Spring has sprung, and I have no longer lost my will to live…outside of the confines of my warm bed. Another inevitable year has passed, so I decided it was time to kick-start my midlife crisis again, before I’m starting my golden years.

When I start my golden years, however, I don’t intend to be like the “lady” I met today on my commute home from work. She was in a pretty ordinary blue sedan, and crawling along at 40 km/hr in a 70 km/hr.  I waved a couple times, as if shooshing a fly, and then I changed lanes to pass her. No biggie! As I passed her, I glanced over to see who was driving. Was the driver new? 112 years old? That’s when this well-healed, mature woman with white hair and Jackie O sunglasses, gave me the finger. I didn’t tailgate or peep the horn. I didn’t gesture in any rude manner, or swerve around her like a crazy person. I may become a sassy old broad who intentionally crosses at a crosswalk slowly out of spite, but that was just rude!

So back to my midlife crisis… Every stereotypical cartoon old lady either has silver hair or blue hair. So naturally, I had to choose one or the other. Flip a coin (and consult my hair stylist)!

My stylist’s last name is Golden, so I can now say, I’ve received “The Golden Touch”!  Time to start planning some adventures for this year! Any suggestions?

Happy Wednesday!

Losing Focus

Tags

faith, midlife crisis

“I’m tired. I’m distracted. I’m disappointed in myself. I feel slightly used and more than slightly used up. I’m a little overwhelmed and a lot worn down” – Lysa Terkeurst.

“I want more.

I’m not a quitter, but I’m just not sure what to do next. What do I keep? What do I relinquish? What gives me pleasure? What gives God pleasure? I’m not afraid to work hard, to sacrifice much, to push through boundaries. But I often feel like I have nothing left to give. I want more than this. I want joy. I want purpose. I want unbroken companionship with my Father.

I’ve heard well-meaning people spout how Jesus can change us. He can, I confidently believe He can! But these well-meaning people ignore our part in it. Our desire to be changed; our willingness to seek it. Instead , we allow a culture of fear and blame, regret and shame dictate our actions. Or inaction. We view a holding pattern as faithfulness, when it’s faithlessness. I feel pressured to “hold the fort” or “tow the party line”, but it feel just as meaningless as those cliches. I want more. I want to step out in faith. I want to take risks, even if the risk means getting hurt. I want to be truly transformed into the image of Christ.

But what is my part in this?

It was easier to find peace on vacation. I can see why authors often seclude themselves away. It’s easier to wrestle with deep questions on the edge of a dock, than at the dining table at home. Out there, I had no telephones jarring me from my revelry. There were no worries about how my house looked should an unexpected guest arrive on the doorstep. Our needs were small; our meals were simple. It’s harder to reclaim that sense of peace when I’m likely to be interrupted by someone who can’t find the t.p. or who wants to know at what time they expect food to be ready so they can fill their pie-holes. At home and work, the lists are longer, the expectations higher, the deadlines shorter and I’m expected to do it all with a smile on my face. Life strips any sense of significance and joy….but only if I let it.”

“The lives we live determine how we live our souls.” – Lysa Terkeurst

***

I wrote these words last Summer as I sat reading the book, “The Best Yes” and pondering  how it related to me. A book, I should mention, that I have yet to finish. And while I certainly feel more peaceful than I did then, I can still sense the same heartache, or hunger, just below the surface.

I began this year excited to have a “word”, a verb to make my own: Focus. But I find I’m still struggling to focus on anything. My to-do lists are endless. I feel like I am always looking ahead to what has to be done in order to get through the next day, the focus on surviving to the weekend when I can steal a day at home. But weekends become days to catch up on what didn’t get done, and to compile a whole new list of tasks. I’m too tired to enjoy what little down time I have. I’m pretty sure most of you are nodding your head in agreement right now?

It’s not supposed to be this way.

I know I’m an adult; adults have responsibilities. But it wasn’t that much easier when I was younger, and I’ve never struggled so much with focus before. I started saving for a trip to Europe when I was 8. In high school, I quit figure skating so I could focus on my studies and get into university. Life took a detour, so I went to college instead. Twice. I focused on high grades so I could get a good job and support my son. I focused on being a good mom and a loving wife (I still do). So where do I go from here?

***

I’ve wrestled with these thoughts for weeks now, hoping that by writing it out, I would discover and seize upon a tangible path. Maybe I even secretly hoped I would have a brilliant, positive, inspiring conclusion, just like a one hour drama on tv. If only it were that simple. Instead, I’m just going to continue to focus on finding joy in the “opera of the every day”, and see what the future brings. And maybe focus on finishing that book!!

Never despise the mundane. Embrace it. Unwrap it like gift. And be one of the rare few who looks deeper than just the surface. See something in the every day.
– Lysa Terkeurst

Have a happy weekend!

Secretary with a …

Tags

games, humour, midlife crisis

Dolly Parton, in 9 to 5, was a secretary with huge assets. Donna from Suits was a secretary with a can opener. Even the assistant in Dilbert has a crossbow. So what’s my “secretary with a …”?

This week we discovered that it could be… Secretary with an Axe!

I went from being the worst in the pack at the beginning…regularly missing the target completely, or bouncing it off the wooden cookie…to fighting my way through 3 grueling rounds in the winning Round 2 of “The Championship”!

Not only did I get a bullseye…in the course of the afternoon, I got 10! Only 2 were in a row.

I won a t-shirt, which I wore the very next. It sparked a conversation with some construction workers at Tim’s that made me laugh. Never underestimate short people!

It required focus and a great desire to just have fun! One more thing to knock off my Mid-Life Crisis list! Secretary with an Axe. It does have a ring to it, doesn’t it?

Happy Weekend!

It’s the Weekend

Tags

humour, midlife crisis

I can almost feel myself losing weight. Oh, not the kind that is bunching up around my hips and around my bra straps. Or my chin. Or arms. Or…well, you get the picture! I’m talking about the mental weight of worrying about stupid things, like,

• Where am I going to live when I get old? After all the Halloween costumes and school projects I’ve helped cobble together for 2 boys (who didn’t attend school concurrently), I can probably cobble together something with cardboard, duct tape and plastic grocery bags. Big Guy has a balcony – if I sleep standing up, I’ll be fine.
• When am I going to have time to finish this project, renovate that room, or buy lettuce at the grocery store? It doesn’t matter. No one has died because I never finished crocheting that tablecloth. No one is losing sleep because their bedroom is yellow instead of blue. And no one has starved to death on my watch. If I focus on the most important things, they will get done. And some that are left until later, or perhaps never done at all, probably won’t be remembered. The time spent with friends and family will be.
• Will there be photos of me on display one day at my funeral, where I look like the Marshmallow Stay Puft guy from Ghost Busters? Yes. I just won’t ever purchase a sailor suit. I’m doing my best to keep my weight down (but it keeps bringing new friends to the party)!
• Who is going to change my diapers when I get old? I’ll probably be in them long before I’m old and research suggests that after only 21 days, you can form a habit. By the time I’m old, I’ll be functioning on muscle memory and it won’t be an issue. Unless I’m on Big Guy’s balcony.
• What will happen if I lose my job? Since an alternative career option has presented itself twice already, there’s a good chance it will happen again. Or I can work at McDonald’s. Even completely senile I am confident that I could do a better job, with a smile on my face.
• When will I die? Who cares?!?! Every day is a gift! You’re still breathing right? So grab Henry (O Henry) and get out there! Maybe get dressed first.

It’s the weekend-make it a good one! I’m already way ahead of you!

7 Signs of a MLC?

Tags

humour, midlife crisis

Author Laura Kemp was featured in The Telegraph today for her piece on having a Mummy Midlife Crisis. As it turns out, as of today, I’ve been a Mom for 28 years (assuming we aren’t also counting the 9 months of heartburn, weight gain and sleepless nights while someone partied). I’m sure if I thought about it, I could come up with way more than her 7 signs of a Mummy Midlife Crisis, but since it’s Friday and it’s been another incredible week of mayhem (plus I have a chocolate birthday cake to assemble), I’m just going to “go with the flow” and see if I fit in.

1. Savage haircut (after multiple discussions and agonizing with the question: is long hair ageing.) Hmm…

Check!

2. Intense exercise. I’m assuming this is to lose the “baby weight” (which you know is no longer linked to a baby but to baby-sized bags of potato chips). Hmm…

Check!

3. Go potty for crafts. Hmm… became a Stampin’ Up! representative. Currently looking up  on Pinterest and sewing “geeky” Christmas decorations.

Check!

4. New friends through social media. Laura calls it “banter, chit-chat, thought-provoking threads and funny pictures of cats, which frankly, is better than what your real life friend moaned about over coffee this morning”. Hmm…

jennsmidlifecrisis.wordpress.com

Check!

5. An unprecedented interest in world affairs. Nope!! Not world affairs, but if I can watch someone renovate their home, renovate their hot rod, or renovate their wardrobe, I’m in!

6. Getting a dog. Close enough?

Check!

7. Caring about winter boots. Or “fashion has re-entered our lives”. Hmm…

Where I Stand: Somewhere between 41 and 42

Wearing a Favourite: “To wear dreams on one’s feet is to begin to give reality to one’s dreams.” – Roger Vivier

Where I Stand

Check!

Laura writes, “The mummy midlife crisis is about working out where you go next. And not giving two hoots if you look foolish doing it.” Do I like the way she thinks?

Check!

Happy Weekend!

 

A Faulty Filter

Tags

humour, midlife crisis

It seems lately that the older I get, the filter between my brain and my mouth gets stretched thinner, like the waistband of my underwear. (I really should have bought some for me when I bought some for everyone else). Basically –

Like last week. As I rushed from the grocery store, a middle-aged couple in a shiny new white BMW pulled into an empty handicapped parking space by the front door. There was no handicap sticker on their vehicle, as required by law, and both appeared to be perfectly physically fit. There were plenty of empty spaces available in the lot, and only a few extra feet away.

I said –

“Oh, I’m sorry for staring but I don’t often get to see people who are so above the law that they can park wherever they please…”Really? What’s my problem? You’re my problem. You don’t have a handicap sticker in your vehicle, and there are plenty of other spaces to choose. You’re taking a space from someone who needs it. I don’t know if you can manage to pay the very expensive fine if you leave your car there, but you certainly look like you can manage those extra steps from that space, right there, to the store.”

– to myself as I climbed in my car, after I rolled my eyes walking past. I ranted all the way home, all the things I wish I had said.

What gives? Sometimes I bite my tongue and I don’t open my mouth, at great risk of personal harm. But other times I’m sneering sarcastically under my breath, or flat out ranting like a lunatic. Whatever the cause, it’s not always a good thing when my brain filter fails and my mouth just assumes it’s ok to say it! It’s awkward, not to mention completely against my upbringing.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. (Matthew 5:9)

A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger. (Proverbs 15:1)

…the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark.  The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole body, sets the whole course of one’s life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell. (James 3:5-6)

I’m already on fire, thanks to the raging inferno of my dying youth. So while I’m developing a thicker skin (and a muffin top), my “filter” is getting thinner. It’s isn’t fair!

One would think that as one matures, one would develop greater self-control. My self-confidence has grown exponentially; I’m increasingly less concerned with what people think of me (humour me!) but this overconfident, run-off-at-the-mouth-like-a-soup-sandwich-style sarcasm is going to land me in serious trouble one day.

I want to be a nice person. I used to be more like Laura Ingalls Wilder – sweet and wholesome – but lately all I want to do is use my braids to choke the next person who annoys me. Which is everyone. Apparently.

Please consider this a forewarning of what may prove to be a growing, embarrassing problem (right up there with pantyhose hanging out my pant leg and forgetting what I went upstairs to get).

So, to the people who tolerate me on a regular basis, I’m sorry…you are the real heroes! I hope you have a good weekend!

To everyone else…I’m just going to bite my tongue.

***

*Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

WPC: Transformation (Empty Nest)

Tags

empty nest, midlife crisis, Photo Challenge, photography, Weekly Photo Challenge

Transformation can be good. Transformation means maturity, knowledge, beginnings. Transformation can also mean endings. And it’s important to acknowledge both. So here I am – half-way to an empty nest. Big Guy moved out nearly 6 years ago. This weekend, Little Guy turns 12! I wouldn’t change the journey.  Awhile back I reflected on who I am now, and who I’m becoming, and (shockingly) I’m becoming more comfortable in my own skin. My “nest” is becoming empty, but my heart…my heart is full.

Happy Weekend!

To see more Transformations, click here.

I’m Feeling…

Tags

emotions, faith, midlife crisis

I had this drawing of a lion posted at my desk at work and it said, “A strong person is not the one who doesn’t cry. A strong person is one who is quiet and sheds tears for a moment, and then picks up her sword and fights again”.

It’s mocking me!

I want to cry, but I can’t quite give in. By cry, I mean the kind where you drop your pants, crawl under the covers, snuggle up next to your bed buddy and just give’er! No holds barred! Full on, scary, ugly-cry crying! I want to because I know that sweet relief follows. That build up of pressure flows out with your tears and your snot! And when you stop hiccuping and feel the coolness on your face as your tears dry and you start to drift off to sleep, you feel hope again.

I still feel hope, but I’m also feeling a lot of other things these days.

I feel hot and bothered, frustrated with discourteous people and people who don’t do what they say they will do. By well-meaning people who brush off my frustrations with poorly-timed cliches or personal anecdotes that really don’t fit here. Oh, and by hot flashes and night sweats, but mostly by people…

I feel restless. Like a teenagers’ “can’t wait to move away from home and start my life” kind of restlessness. Attending a 2 day leadership conference didn’t help. I came away feeling both overwhelmed by how things should be and aren’t, and by an intense desire to be involved in something that matters. Something transformational and pure and just.

I feel angry. I know that anger is a fickle and volatile companion. It breeds contempt, jealousy, and malice. I have enough weeds in my garden to keep the lawn maintenance companies off my block, I don’t need weeds in my soul too. (Or that zit on my forehead. Hello! I’m over 40 now!)

Strong women wear their pain like they do stilettos. No matter how much it hurts, all you see is the beauty of it.

You know I like my stilettos. I feel fierce in my sassy green boots. But I also feel annoyed because the world appears to be full of platitudes that make vulnerable women feel weak if they don’t behave like warriors, and dismiss their right to hurt.

Joyce Meyers wrote, “A strong woman knows how to keep her like in order. Even with tears in her eyes, she still manages to say, ‘I’m OK’ with a smile”. I disagree! There may be times, when our circumstances dictate that we have to stand firm, put on a strong front, and keep our pain private. But there are other times when we need to let someone in so they can help awaken a new beast within us. Warriors and lone wolves are powerful figures in stories, but how many of them live long enough to share their stories.

I don’t doubt that I am a strong woman, but I resent feeling like I’m not allowed to behave like a “weak” one.  I see myself as a warrior, but I resent the implication that I should feel shame if I need someone to stand by me or stand up for me.  Asking for someone to acknowledge our pain and to help us is a sign of strength.  I believe we need to embrace our messiness and carefully let others embrace us.

I tore down the quote posted at my desk, and I’ve replaced it with a new one. It says, “My prayer is that when I die, all of hell rejoices that I am out of the fight”. See, C.S. Lewis’ quote removes the connotation that I am standing alone, or that I don’t show my feelings and I’m pretending that everything is okay. I may be strong or weak, fierce or vulnerable,  messy or just plain a mess. It connotes that I kept fighting the good fight.

And that makes me feel….hope. And “hope will not lead to disappointment”. (Rom. 5:5a)

The Beacon is Lit

Tags

bikini, humour, midlife crisis

What mid-life crisis would be complete without wearing something completely inappropriate and totally embarrassing to my pre-teen in public?

I know the focus of my blog posts has shifted lately from pushing myself to try new things to sitting back and observing (and laughing through) the opera of the every day.

Life literally abounds in comedy if you just look around you – Mel Brooks

I think it’s been a combination of learning to be content with where I am and learning to laugh wherever that may be, plus a combination of the usual lack of time, energy, motivation, cash, and inspiration. BUT – inspiration took form one sunny day last Summer, as I perused the racks and racks of lycra postage-stamp-sized bikinis.
And I thought to myself:

•  inappropriate? Check!
•  totally embarrassing for offspring? Check!
• In my size? Sold!

What  was I waiting for?

Pinterest.com

I can remember wearing a bikini outside the confines of my bedroom, only twice: my Mom’s bikini with little kittens when I was 8, and a black bikini heavily veiled under a thick t-shirt when I was pregnant with Little Guy! It’s now or never!

So I bought a black bikini top last Summer, brought it home and promptly buried it in my room. Every time I found it, I’d stare at it and ask myself, “what was I thinking?”

***

I dug it out on the weekend because we had been invited to a “pool party”.
But would I carry through…

Step 1: Put on bikini.

It sounded so simple until it came time to do it and I nearly dislocated my shoulder trying to snap it up behind. After fumbling for several minutes, I used the “tried and true” technique – do it up in the front where you can actually see what you’re doing, and slide it around. Check!

Step 2: Stand in front of mirror for closer inspection.

I tripped over a shoe because I was wrestling with step 3.

Step 3: Put hand over mouth to stifle scream and open eyes.

It looked fantastic…in the dark. The curtains were tightly drawn; the door closed. The lights off. And everyone in the house had been warned within an inch of their life to leave me alone!

Step 4: Turn on the lights and inspect.

Once my eyes adjusted to the glare of the light off my abdomen, and the initial shock wore off, I moved in for a closer inspection. Stand up straight, suck it in, smile and turn…?

Undecided and out of time, I threw on a sundress and prayed for rain!

***

Most of the husbands (and teenagers) didn’t make it to the party, which increased my comfort level significantly. But I still wasn’t convinced the world was ready for this!  I wasn’t convinced I was ready for this! Instead, I hoisted my skirts and dilly-dallied on the steps in the shallow end. That is, until the women moved to the hot tub and urged me to join them.

Moment of truth…

No asked me to leave or called Greenpeace to deal with a beached whale.

The horrified glint in Little Guy’s eyes confirmed that I had not failed my duty to embarrass!

The heavens didn’t fall from the sky.

But yes…the beacon is lit!