Over Looking

Because you can't direct your hearing, no one faults you if you happen to overhear a conversation. Personal and professional, embarrassing and mundane, we all sponge up snippets of other's trials and tribulations as we wander about, be it standing next to people on a line, sitting adjacent to them on the train or walking behind them down the street. It's an occurrence made more common by the advent of cell phones and earbuds. People think they are immersed in a call that only they can hear, and so they talk louder and with less reserve. Whether you want to or not, you become privy to pleading with children, cheating boyfriends and gross medical issues.

Do so with your eyes, however, and aspirations are cast. Because you can look away it is assumed that you will. If you don't avert your gaze are you peeping? Nosy? Spying? What if the person insists on using a 40 point font in their text app, and is shoulder to shoulder with you on an airplane? In my case it was a flight to Florida, midday and midweek, no holiday in sight, just normal people doing normal things: business meetings to attend, family to see, an escape from the cold for a few days. In that situation are you a snoop if you can't help it, and would have to shut your eyes not to see? 

Let's say you (by that I mean me) does snatch a glance: what are you jumping into? Let's face it: most of us lead pretty ordinary, or perish the thought, even boring existences. Sure, there might be the odd bit of drama with a sibling or coworker, something relatively trivial: a forgotten birthday, a stapler not returned, an anecdote appropriated as one's own. But the stuff of prime time, such as deceit, double dealing, back stabbing? That level of dysfunction or intrigue is far more likely on Netflix or HBO. Or is it?

"As you know Harry is a vindictive person who can't be trusted." That was the line that jumped off the phone in my eyeline. Just a moment before the woman in the middle seat next to me was nibbling bits of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich she took out of her bag and was playing solitaire. That wasn't surprising, as flying used to be one of the few respites where we all got away from the near constant vibrating and pinging that dictates our everyday existence. But because this was JetBlue, everyone had free Wi-Fi, and was jacked in. And so even at 35,000 feet, there was no escaping texts or emails. Moments before I had seen a note pop up on her screen about her father being in the hospital and her flying down to check on him. Boring. 

But this? The great director Alfred Hitchcock used to talk of ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. And with no context or back story this could go either way. Since I wasn't staring at her phone, I only caught bits, and so I wondered: just how vindictive was Harry? Turns out very: "he has a grudge against my brothers and me." The next time I glanced over: "He has an inability to run the company." Which was this: ordinary or extraordinary?

The next sighting was most assuredly the first: "Have to reschedule the dog's grooming session." I read my book a bit, then shifted and looked again. More everyday: "Thanks for being with dad." But then the other storyline: "He might do anything, he's done it before." What? Steal? Lie? Violence? I had no idea what Harry was capable of. Then just as quickly: "The flowers were lovely." How sweet. Or was that code for something far more dastardly?

So Jill or Anna or Jennifer or whomever you are that sat next to me: apologies for over looking. I hope your dad is OK and that you find a convenient time to reschedule Queenies blowout. As for the texts, maybe I'm just reading too many books or watching too many shows where the unusual trumps the mundane. Looking at it one way, if you're locked in a high-stakes takeover battle, I hope that Harry is unarmed. But if he's just an annoying cousin, then good luck with the appliance repair business or whatever. In the meantime, the black nine goes on the red ten in third column. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford keeps his ears and eyes open. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Are You Blue?

The color of love? Red. The color of caution? Yellow. Purple connotes royalty, orange conveys vitality, while white is virginal and pure. And green is either the color of renewal and wealth, growth and the environment or, if you are of certain political persuasion, a political scam that will destroy the world.

As to blue, it's cool in attitude and temperature, as well as indicating reliability, stability and intelligence. Somewhat paradoxically it can also indicate sadness or depression, and even has a whole genre of music named after it. And because that was the color of the highlighters that a bunch of researchers had 20 years ago, it's now also associated with longevity.

It started with demographic work begun in 1999 and refined in 2004 by medical doctor Gianni Pes and demographer Michel Poulain. They noted that one particular area of Sardinia had a higher incidence than surrounding regions of centenarians, or people living to more than 100, and circled it in blue ink.  Working with author Dan Buettner, they published their findings in a 2005 National Geographic article entitled "The Secrets of a Long Life." In it, they identified Okinawa, Japan and Loma Linda, California as two other areas that shared this trait. Since then they've added Nicoya, Costa Rica and Ikaria, Greece as places with significantly higher concentrations of very oldsters. Circle each, and you get the Blue Zones.

The obvious question: what do the people within these regions have in common? To be sure, the researchers note that you have to start by winning the "genetic lottery" and be lucky to not get some major disease. But they also note that, per the Danish Twin Study, the world's largest twin registry and research project of its kind, only about 20% of how long the average person lives is determined by genes. The rest is more about lifestyle and environment than who your parents were. According to Buettner, by "reverse engineering longevity" they boiled it down to nine items that seem to make a difference. 

It started with movement. The people in these localities had routines in which their day-to-day lives embraced physical activity. They also had purpose. The researchers said that "knowing your sense of purpose is worth up to seven years of extra life expectancy." In each place there was also some custom to help people shed stress. In Greece they took naps, while in Sardinia they had happy hour. 

Unsurprisingly, what and how they ate played a part as well. All had diets skewed towards plants, especially those with lots of nutrients. People ate to not feel hungry, as opposed to feeling full. And residents of all but one zone (a religious community) drank alcohol moderately and regularly. The takeaway on that? One to two glasses per day is fine; 14 drinks on Saturday night is not.

The last three characteristics were about the social arrangements beyond the individual. All but five of the 263 centenarians were part of some kind of faith-based community. They were also very focused on their families, from keeping aging parents nearby, to taking a life partner, to investing time in their children. And finally they lived in groups and social circles that shared their values and supported healthy living habits. 

Various municipalities are jumping on the bandwagon, trying to see if they can replicate these results by encouraging their residents to adopt blue zone habits. That means redesigning their environment to promote walking as well as encourage other physical activities. In Albert Lea, MN, after just one year of healthy living initiatives, participants added an estimated 2.9 years to their average lifespan, while health care costs dropped by 49%. Other communities that have embraced some aspects of the nine include Forth Worth, Texas, the "Beach Cities" of Hermosa, Manhattan and Redondo in California, and Naples and Marco Island in Florida.

Neither Sardinia nor Forth Worth nor the people in them have a patent on any of these aspects of life. Indeed, they don't have to be done as a set. You can take a nap when you feel stressed out, or join a church or synagogue or mosque. You can walk up the stairs at the airport versus taking the escalator. Have that glass of wine (just one), and call your parents or kids. And don't ask for another helping of mashed potatoes; good on the potato though, and even better if it's a sweet one.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford walks, tries to eat well, takes naps, and is working on the other stuff. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Peace, Love and Chocolate Redux

It is a point of pride for me that I never republish a column, that I try every week to present you with a new idea, outlook or discovery. But on this, the first anniversary of my mom’s passing, I’ve been thinking about her a lot, and hope you will forgive me just this once for reprising that one particular essay.

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In an interview, the actor Javier Bardem talked about how his faith came from his mother, who had passed away several years before. He said he was very close to her and noted, “When both your parents die, and especially when your mother dies, you do go to a different level of orphanage. Like, ‘OK, now really I’m on my own.’”

Well, this week I feel like I am truly on my own, as my mother Nan has passed away.

Two weeks ago she had a small stroke, but seemed to be bouncing back from some loss of mobility and slurred speech. Indeed, we were talking with the staff about when we could move her back into her apartment from the rehab unit and continue her treatment as an outpatient. But then came a second, larger stroke, one that paralyzed one side and left her unable to speak or swallow. The doctors determined that there was nothing they could do, and we all agreed that, in accordance with her wishes, she should be transferred out of the hospital and back to her home. She lasted 5 days, and slipped away peacefully with my sister and I on either side talking with her and holding her hand.

A vibrant woman of 94, she had been doing pretty well even if she was slowing down. After my father died 17 years ago she moved into a senior community, first into a self-standing cottage on the grounds, then into an apartment in the main building. There she went to lectures and performances and meals, making new friends and buddies. Her apartment was in the wing farthest from the in-house Bistro, and what should have been a 10-minute walk always took 20, as she stopped to talk with every person she passed, residents and staff alike. About a year ago she moved into the facility’s assisted living center, where she became an active member of that community as well, winning an award for “Best Red Lipstick.”

The woman was a born teacher. While she taught almost every elementary grade, she was most at home in the second grade. In that capacity she taught countless kids to add, subtract, read and color. After a 40+ year career of full-time teaching she substituted for years, eventually working at the local hospital education center, where she taught endless school field trips, and was proud to be named Volunteer of the Month. Whenever she saw a child she would bend down and talk to them, engaging them with a smile and a question, asking them to tell her about whatever was in their hand.

Of course, she had her shortcomings. She couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, couldn’t park a car between the lines and could barely tell a joke. Technology was a mystery to her: when I was a kid and was transferring a record to tape she came into my room and when I started to talk she went “SHHHHHH... we have to be quiet!” We had an old VW Beetle, and she could never find reverse on the stick shift: the one time we parked head in at the 7-Eleven we had to have people push us out. More recently we got her an iPad, but it kept hanging up. When I looked at it she had 27 tabs open: “I don’t know how to close them,” she said. And she was not creative in any way save for one example of brilliance: when she got a new dog after my dad died she named her MADJ. The initials stood for the first names of each of her grandchildren.

Her strong suits? She could teach any child, eat any milk chocolate, love any puppy, talk to any person, make anyone feel special, eat an entire serving of sweet potato fries, welcome anyone into her home, wear anything with sparkles unironically, and love my father and her family unconditionally. When my dad died, I wrote a column which noted that, as he was not a famous man, there would be no parades in his honor. My mother, however, had the foresight to pass so that her funeral fell on Mardi Gras. I choose to think that all that hoopla was in some way a tribute to her.

For us, my mom was the last of her generation. She outlasted most of her close friends from her teaching years, as well as all my aunts and uncles. I have always felt that in life I was on a conveyor belt, with people before me and others coming up behind. She was the last one leading the way, protecting me and looking out for me, and now I am in front.

As Mr. Bardem said, that’s a little scary, but I’m good with it. That’s because I couldn’t have had a better teacher. Yes, like all those other kids, she helped teach me to read and write, to tie my shoes and button my coat, to brush my teeth and put on my socks. But she taught me so much more about kindness and helping, about loving and caring, about smiling and forgiving. And she taught me by her own personal mantra, the way she signed off every phone call or written note, and it’s how I will remember her forever: “peace, love, and chocolate.”

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Marc Wollin of Bedford promises to keep trying to make his mom proud. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.