The Aging Skier

Last week, Audrey and I broke out of our Pandemic exile by going skiing on a small, fairly gentle mountain in the Berkshires called Ski Butternut. It was our first time skiing in almost 11 months. For someone who grew up in Savannah, Georgia, and never saw snow before turning 18, discussing intervals between ski outings seems a little strange.

It was also our first time skiing since we both turned 71. I think that qualifies us for membership in a special club that I call “aging skiers.” Becoming an aging skier doesn’t just involve getting older. And it’s not just a mental thing. If that were true, we probably wouldn’t be skiing at all at our “advanced” age. You have to be a little crazy to risk limb or life schussing down a slick, snow-covered slope in your seventies. It’s really a state of body more than a state of mind. I have come up with a few rules on how to adjust to aging skier status

Accessorize.  As with any sport, skiing calls for lots of equipment—skis, boots, helmets, and poles and maybe a few accessories, such as goggles, mittens, and hand warmers. But for the aging skier, there are a new class of accessories. I have added a knee brace on my left leg to reinforce a balky joint and a back brace that wraps tightly around my middle for lumbar support. 

From l to r, my knee brace, back wrap, helmet, and mittens.
What the well-dressed aging skier is wearing these days.

      Audrey has even added a high-tech medal and elastic brace to support the MCL that she tore a few years ago, while skiing, of course. Can we survive skiing without these additions? Maybe. But we would have to be a little crazy not to add them.

Audrey adds her high-tech knee brace

      Medicate. Audrey has introduced two Advil capsules into our pre-ski regimen. “It’s so our muscles won’t ache,” she explains. I figure she’s right about that. She’s usually right and generally wiser than I.

3       Anticipate. Remember that you are now over 70 and that your bladder is not always your best friend. So make sure to hit the bathroom before hitting the slopes. It is almost impossible to find a safe and semi-private place to pee while on a ski run. Plus, you don’t want to whip out anything that might quickly freeze at low temperature.

4       Discriminate. Every ski trail offers different degrees of difficulty. You can often tell which trails to avoid by noting their names. For example, at Ski Butternut one trail is called Lucifer’s Leap while a nearby trail is called Nuthatch. A nuthatch is a sweet little bird; Lucifer is just another word for the Devil. Do you really think you can leap with the devil? Probably not.

Here are some additional pairs of trail names from which Audrey and I have had to choose. Which is probably best for the aging skier who plans to continue aging safely:

a.  Drop                       b. Deer Run

a.  Challenger             b. Meadow

a.  Whiplash                b. Hopscotch

a.  Downspout             b. Pied Piper

Note: If you chose a for any of these pairs, your membership in the Aging Skier Cub is under review.

But Audrey and I plan to stay in our new club for many years. After all, our friend Til is well into her 80s and is still gliding along successfully. She has slowed down a little bit, but so have we all. Maybe the reason we started skiing in the first place was to add a little bit of speed into our lives. But we are not out to break any records or any bones. 

The final package, as seen from the outside.

 

The Path to Genius

It takes dedication, but with some fortitude and maybe some help from like-minded friends, you too can be a Genius. Even if it’s just for the day.—Deb Amlen/The New York Times

For a long time, I have believed that people who read the New York Times can acquire a lot of valuable knowledge. Just by reading the Times regularly, they can make themselves smarter in many areas—from current events, to science, to the arts. But, amazingly, in recent weeks the Times has made me into a “Genius.” And I’m not just bragging.

This morning, for the sixth time in seven days, I was declared a genius by the Times. Of course, I let my family know about my accomplishment, and they just nodded, not really impressed. “Genius, again,” my wife said with a yawn when I greeted her with the news as she came awake a little after 8 am this morning. I had hoped for a warmer reception.

My move up to genius hasn’t required a lot of extra time hitting the books. Instead, it has required my testing how many words I know and how well I can spell those words. But not just any words and any letters.

At 3 am each morning, the Times publishes a word puzzle called “Spelling Bee.” The timing of the puzzle’s appearance each day is important to many readers, even me. According to reporter Deb Amlen, whose quote I included above, some people set their alarm for 3 am to get a jump on the new puzzle and complete it before the rest of the world is awake. I usually start a little later than that, but the puzzle is often my first task after putting the dog out for her morning relief.

Then I begin my battle for genius status. In “Spelling Bee,” a group of seven letters is placed in a hexagonal bee hive—six different letters in the outside boxes, and a seventh in a center box. It looks like this:

The Spelling Bee Hive
Try "varmint" for top score

The task is to make words using the letters. The good news is that you can use the same letter multiple times in forming your words. (For example, you could spell variant from the hive above if you doubled the a or trait if you doubled the t.) The relatively bad news is that you have to use the center letter in each word. The even more challenging aspect of the puzzle is that at least one of your words must contain all seven of the letters. That’s called a “pangram,” a Greek term that I think means, “this is annoying in all ways.” You have to uncover at least one pangram to be called a Genius.

You get points for each word you spell out with the letters. The more letters in each word, the more points you score. As your word list increases and your point total goes up, you progress through a series of levels— Beginner, Good Start, Moving Up, Good, Solid, Nice, Great, and Amazing. 

Then, stick with it a little longer (and maybe find a sneaky way to ask the Internet for a little extra help if you’re totally stuck) and, voila, you too can be a Genius. Luckily, I am learning more words each day I play and cheating a lot less. That’s why, in my mind at least, I have progressed from merely Amazing to Genius. It’s a really affirming way to begin each day. 

I even turned my daughter Amanda on to the puzzle, and I should feel very good about that, except that she beat me to the Pangram word yesterday. Which made me wonder if I have created a monster. Am I willing to move over and accept a second Genius in our family? I’m not really sure.

The genius of the Spelling Bee scoring—if you’ll pardon the pun—is that each level rank is positive. You can feel pretty good if you’re called solid or great or amazing.

I am reminded of a teacher evaluation form I gave out to my students during one of my first years in the classroom. It included rankings such as: Mr. Goodman is an excellent teacher, Mr. Goodman is an amazing teacher, Mr. Goodman is a superlative teacher, and Mr. Goodman is all of the above and more. One student raised her hand to complain, “There’s no place to write anything bad.” The other students howled in mock amusement, and I made an expression of mock outrage.

Checking All the Boxes

I wonder how that student would feel now to learn that in six of the last seven days, I have been declared a Genius by the New York Times, America’s paper of record. She’d probably wonder if perhaps I cheated just a little bit on one of those days.

 Writing Pros

The freelance writer is a person who is paid per piece or per word or perhaps.                                                      —Robert Benchley

When I was seventeen and a high school junior, I submitted a poem for possible publication in the journal of the Georgia Council of Teachers of English (GCTE). It was accepted, and I received a double bonus: (1) My poem was published in the journal for all of Georgia to see, and (2) I was sent a check for $25.

I don’t remember much about that poem—I think it was a sonnet. But it turned out to be pretty important for me.  It was the first time I was ever paid for my writing. I was officially a professional writer—in a very small way.

Interestingly enough, when I started my first job as an editor for Scholastic, the schoolbook company, I also submitted a poem for inclusion in a new workbook. It was accepted, and I received a check for—you guessed it—$25. My rate had clearly not improved during the intervening years since high school. [This reminds me of an anecdote that Calvin Trillin, a true writing pro, told about his years submitting columns to The Nation magazine, for which he was paid “in the high double figures.”)  

I have done a lot of writing over the next nearly 50 years and have received checks for three figures or more almost every time, but I have never felt that I was writing “for the money.” It’s nice to be paid, heaven knows, but very few writers, even professional ones, are really highly paid. We work at other jobs, as teachers or editors or accountants, for example, to afford our writing habit.

Here’s a personal anecdote that shows what I mean. Most of my writing projects are what are known as “works for hire.” I am paid a flat fee, a one-time payment with no royalties to collect over time. Many years ago, I did score a few royalty projects. One was a book called Baseball’s Best, part of the Golden Books “Look-Look” series for young readers. By the way, it is still remaindered on Amazon and Thrift Books, though it is way out of date and not worth buying any more. 

My first "big" royalty project

After a few years, sales of the book slowed to a trickle, and my royalty checks withered. Golden Books sent me a semi-annual royalty statement showing a balance of $2.25. No check. Instead a note was attached that read, “Please be aware that we do not mail out checks for less than $5. If your royalties exceed $5 in the future, we will send you a check (which they actually did do six months later). Then six months after that, I got a new statement showing a balance somehow below zero (did I owe them money?) and a more ominous note attached. This note warned that unless I had a positive balance, I would not receive any future statements. Sadly, that turned out to be the case.

Every author's dream; not always a reality

But I am not complaining. At least, not about that.

Instead I am writing this blog as a small protest to the actions of another writing pro. Recently I heard an author interviewed concerning a book she had written as part of a series of biographies of important individuals from the distant past to the near present. When the author was asked why she had chosen her particular subject, she replied, “Because it was assigned to me. I could have chosen someone else, but this [subject] seemed best.” That’s not a bad answer. In fact, I could make the same reply about several of my own books. But as the interview continued, it was clear that the author still looked on the book mostly as an assignment. She had not developed a real interest in her subject even after doing the research for her book and putting that research to paper. She had not internalized the subject’s life or personality .And that seemed sad to me.

I like to think that I really care about whatever subject I take on, even if the monetary reward is small or fleeting. For me, the joy of writing is the ability to look back over what you have produced and to feel a sense of accomplishment. Of course, getting a check and cashing it also feels good.