Meet Shadow: The Majestic Black Cat Ruler

Posted on August 20, 2026 by Sheila Moss
Black cat perched on a bookshelf in a cozy living room

Every household has its ruler. Ours just happens to have four legs, a tail, and a moral code based entirely on the availability of canned food. His name is Shadow, and he is a black cat of such majestic arrogance that even the refrigerator hums in deference.

🍽️ Feeding Time: A Tragedy in Three Acts 

Shadow’s day revolves around food, which he believes should arrive not merely on schedule but with ceremony. Morning feedings are greeted with a performance worthy of Broadway — dramatic pacing, soulful meows, and the occasional paw swipe at the cupboard door. Evening feedings are more operatic: he sings the song of his people until the can opener begins its sacred whirring. 

He does not eat dry food. Dry food is for peasants. He demands the moist, fragrant feast of the gods — preferably served in his personal bowl, which he guards like a dragon hoarding treasure. 

🏠 Household Management 

Shadow supervises all domestic operations. He inspects every surface for dust (by lying on it), monitors the refrigerator (by sitting beside it), and ensures the humans remain properly trained. If they dare to leave for more than a day, he files formal complaints in the form of hairballs placed strategically on rugs. 

😼 Social Relations 

Shadow tolerates humans as necessary staff. He does not “cuddle”; he grants audience. When he curls up beside you, it is not affection — it is diplomacy. He is the ambassador of aloofness, the velvet-pawed negotiator of snacks. 

🌙 Night Watch 

When darkness falls, Shadow becomes a creature of myth. He prowls the hallways like a phantom, occasionally knocking over something fragile to remind us that peace is temporary. His eyes gleam like twin lanterns of mischief. He is both sentinel and saboteur. 

🪶 Philosophy 

Shadow lives by one principle: If it moves, chase it. If it doesn’t, knock it off the counter. He is the embodiment of chaos wrapped in fur — proof that the universe favors entropy, especially when it’s cute. 

In short, Shadow is not merely a cat. He is a lifestyle, a cosmic event, a small black hole around which the household orbits. Feeding him is not care — it’s worship. And we, his humble attendants, wouldn’t have it any other way. 

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FULL DISCLOSURE: I did not write this. It was written by AI from cat care notes I made for a neighbor, and, most probably, at least partly stolen off the internet from the work of others. It is most discouraging to a writer when a computer writes better and funnier than I can. Blogging hardly seems worth my trouble anymore.

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Embracing Gray Hair: A Transition

Posted on August 11, 2026 by Sheila Moss

I have decided to go natural — with my hair that is. My shade has been auburn for as long as I can remember. I started at age 16 with Egyptian Henna. Later my hair dresser convinced me to go to a regular hair color product. “You can’t control the color with Henna,” he explained. So, it was Clairol all the way until I found a slightly lighter color by Loreal and decided I was “Worth It” just like in their commercial.

I am going gray, I decided, just like my roots have been asking me to do. At my age auburn looks as fake as Reba McIntire’s wig. The thing is, the in-between stage is atrocious. My auburn shade has faded to a light blond in front and a strawberrry blond in back, not to mention the salt and pepper gray roots becoming more obvious every day. My hair is four different colors

There must be something I can do. Maybe I can just dye it gray and get it over with. So, I did what any confused woman would do and consulted AI. “You cannot dye hair gray,” it said. “Gray is not a color; it is an absence of color. If you try to dye it gray, it could turn green,” It proceeded to advise me on what to do with products I’ve never heard of. Since my hair has become blonde, it advised me that a purple tint would take away the brassiness.

Purple? I remembered when my very blonde sister-in-law decided to do her own hair and turned it purple. “No purple!” Things are bad enough now. I want to go gray, not purple. “Okay, no purple and no green, but you need to do something to take away the warm tones. Maybe you could use an ash color to cool it down.” There are warm tones and cool tones? How have I lived my entire life without knowing this?

AI knows everything about me, every search I’ve ever done, every question I’ve ever asked, every article I’ve ever read. It is like a stalker. “You need this Wella product and it comes separate from the activating lotion. Mix one part color and two of the activator. Apply it only to the blond area.”

“Can I get it at Walgreen’s or Walmart?”

“No, only at a store that sells professional beauty products like Ulta.”

This is getting way too complicated. Maybe I need a pro, a color specialist. Fortunately, there is an expert in my area who specializes in color. She can blend in the new growth with foils. She does only one client at a time, so it may take several trips. “You are ‘transitioning’ not changing colors!” Of course, “transitioning” – I need to remember that.

I begin to think dollars, dollars, dollars, and wonder if she is paying someone to get AI to recommend her. It seems silly to pay big bucks to do something that Mother Nature will do for free if I wait long enough.

I clicked AI off and turned Amazon on. Doing a search on silver and gray hair color, I found that most products want to color the gray, not make the rest of your hair match it. “Hate that gray, wash it away” was a famous Clairol slogan. Clairol no longer makes that product. It has been replaced with “Natural Instincts.”

Anyhow, there are many temporary hair color products that gradually fade. I don’t have to commit to anything permanent. They are now called “demi-permanent” not “semi-permanent.” I did learn one thing from my AI escapade, use an ash color first to tone it down. So, I have ordered a light brown ash to cool the blonde and hopefully make the brunette growth less noticeable.

I will let you know what happens. If I turn purple or green, I can blame AI. No wonder I am turning gray.

Copyright 2026 Sheila Moss

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Bad Hair Days and Self Reflection

Posted on July 18, 2026 by Sheila Moss
Back view after disastrous haircut

I am depressed. Do you have times when you feel pretty, like you look your best, and times of ugliness, like you look awful and nothing helps? Along with looking bad comes depression, sickness and staying out of the public eye to save them the horror of seeing me and save myself the horror of perceived criticism.

This particular era began with a bad haircut. Nothing like a bad hair day to sabotage your self-esteem. It started out so normally. I went to my usual place to get my usual haircut. I like a bob, all my hair the same length. I told her what to do – no layers. Some women look great with layered hair. I am not one of those women.

As I sat in front of the mirror chatting about the weather or some other mundane topic, the hairdresser chopped away. The front of my hair looked fine, but when I saw the back, I realized she had layered it. Of course, they can make anything look good with their blow dryer and little round brush. “It will be okay,” I rationalized. “I can manage it.”

It was not okay. When I tried to style it at home, it looked awful. Maybe I can use rollers to get it to behave? No luck. It was so short it would not even go around a curler. I dug out all my hats, the sun hat from vacation, the denim hat from Walmart, even my winter stocking hats. I looked stupid. I would just have to grin and bear it until it grew out.

I was so angry! “I am never going to cut my hair again!” It can grow down to my butt. I will put it in a French roll, a ponytail or bun – anything. In my fury I also decided to quit coloring my hair and let it go gray. What does it matter? It looks like crap anyhow.

The next era was even worse. I had this tiny sore on my nose. I finally decided I needed to have it looked at. The dermatologist could probably zap it with a laser and get rid of it. “It is basal cell melanoma,” she told me. Skin cancer! I could get surgery, which would leave a scar, or I could get it treated with radiation. Of course, I chose radiation.

My hair didn’t matter now as I had a bright red and very sore nose. Talk about looking ugly. I could out-shame witches. I hated even going to treatment and enduring the stares of other patients. I could cover it briefly with a band-aid, but that doesn’t look much better. The good news, if there can be such a thing, is that it is not the kind of skin cancer that can get in my blood stream and kill me. It can only embarrass me to death.

So, that is the reason I have become a recluse. Thanks goodness for Amazon where I can order what I need. Thank goodness for Instacart where I can order groceries without going to the store. Thank goodness for drive-thru drug stores and fast food. Thank goodness for restaurants with carry-out food. Thank goodness for Facebook so I can keep up with the world that is passing me by.

I know I am being vain, that many people have serious illnesses much worse than skin cancer or a bad haircut. Two more weeks of radiation on my nose, a month to recover. I have something to look forward to – eventually.

Can you suggest anything? I hope I will still have a nose when this ordeal is over, but I am never getting my hair cut again.

Sheila Moss 2026

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Explaining the Winter Olympics

Posted on February 7, 2026 by Sheila Moss

A rerun of an oldie but a goodie

Are you watching the winter Olympics on TV? There are sport disciplines in seven sports and it seems that NBC is determined to cover them all. Medals are up for grabs. We will become intimate with many sports, such as, the luge, half-pipe, and slalom, some of which we try to forget even exist except in the Olympics.

As a public service, I will attempt to explain some of the key events.

First, we will talk about the sliding events. I’m sure there is a skill involved in these sports, but it is difficult to know what it is. Take the luge; please take the luge. This involves lying on a sled and sliding down an ice-covered chute, sort of like a water slide park in winter. Flip the luge over, and you have the skeleton, riders going down the icy chute headfirst at speeds of 80-90 mph. Those who survive win a medal and a free brain surgery.

Then there is the bobsledding (a.k.a bobsleighing) event. Bobsledding is an unending, night after night competition. First is two-man, then four-man, then six-man and eight-man, bobsledding backwards, bobsledding upside down, and freestyle bobsledding where bobsleds slide off a steep ramp and turn flips in the air. Bobsled dancing is coming soon.

One of the most popular sports at the winter of Olympics is skiing. Freestyle skiing has five subdivisions: mogul, arial, ski cross, half-pipe and slope style, known informally as bumps, jumps, thumps, stunts, and lumps. In addition, there is downhill skiing called the slalom, which is a Norwegian word for zigzag, not to be confused with the Jewish word shalom.

Cross-country skiing is self-explanatory. When combined with rifle shooting, it becomes the biathlon. There is no triathlon, quadathlon, pentathlon, hexathlon, decathlon, polyathlon or other-athlon, probably because so many guns in the hands of losers could turn into an act of terrorism.

Snowboarding repeats all the events in freestyle skiing on a skateboard without wheels. It still resembles the local skateboard park. Give these long-haired, droopy-drawers wheels, and there is no telling how many medals they could stack up for the US while still managing to hold up their pants by snowboarding upside down.

Skating events are diverse and include hockey and speed skating. Speed skating requires you to be able to skate with one hand behind your back while dressed in rubber diving suit. Hockey is only interesting as long as your team can cheat better and more than the teams of other countries.

The oldest Olympic sport is figure skating. Figure skaters must be able to twirl round and round with one foot over their head without getting dizzy, falling down, having a wardrobe malfunction, or tripping over bouquets of flowers. The skaters must not only be technically perfect, but they must also be graceful and beautiful. Skaters dress in glittery, designer skate dresses and glue rhinestones on their eyelids. Judging is done by a point system so complicated not even the judges understand it, leading to much controversy over why the Russians always win.

Olympic sports coverage is not complete without the Scottish sport called curling. It has nothing to with styling hair but is about sliding rocks across the ice. The team’s housekeepers sweep the ice with brooms to keep the rocks from getting dirty, making it one of the cleanest sports in the Olympics. I would explain more, except no one except Scots and Canadians really understand it.

So, that’s the gist of the Olympic Games, except for counting the medals awarded to the athletes with the most sunburned noses and flowers. By the way, the gold and silver medals are both silver, but the gold one tastes better when bitten.

Copyright 2014 Sheila Moss

Posted in Humor, News & Current Events, Sports | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

A Social Movement – The Walk for Peace

Posted on February 6, 2026 by Sheila Moss

Have you been watching the Walk for Peace on social media? If not you are missing out on one of the most meaningful phenomena of our time. A group of Buddhist Monks believed our country was in crisis. They wanted to spread a message of peace and hope. They decided to walk 2300 miles from Fort Worth, Texas, to Washington, D.C., in a quest to spread peace.

They didn’t expect people to pay much attention. At first, they didn’t. As the word spread though, more and more people wanted to see. The roadsides were lined with people. The single file of silent monks in their traditional orange robes was unusual. It was quite inspiring for most people. Since monks have taken a vow of poverty, people gave them flowers as a gesture of thanks. These flowers were blessed and passed on to other viewers.

The procession of monks stopped twice a day, once for a lunch break and once for overnight. Monks eat only once a day and they eat only what is given to them. They can’t ask for food and if no one gives them food, they don’t eat. They sleep on pads on the floor instead of beds as this is part of their discipline. During breaks, they welcomed people to visit them. Often, the lead monk would speak about kindness, compassion, and love.

Not all went well on the walk, near the beginning two monks were struck by a car and injured. One monk was injured so seriously that he lost a leg. They also had a sweet dog that they had adopted in India when he followed them on a walk there. People were very taken by Aloka, the Peace Dog. So much walking caused an old injury to flare up. The dog had to have surgery and could no longer walk but rode in the support vehicle.

Due to the danger of walking on highways, law enforcement began to accompany them. For each county or city there were different officers as jurisdictions changed. The law enforcement officers were very respectful of the monks, and received thanks and their blessing for their help.

The monks faced adversity but did not quit. Instead, they continued their journey. They walked approximately 20 miles per day. Slowly but surely, step by step, they moved towards their goal. As they walked and word spread, more and more people came to see. They lined the roadsides, many folding hands or kneeling as a sign of respect. If the procession happened to pass a person in a wheelchair, they would stop to bless them. Many people wept. Sometimes the mere site of these holy men on a mission of peace was enough to bring tears. When they reached a city, the crowds were huge. Hundreds of people came to see. They were inspired by their demeanor and mission for peace.

People who were not capable of seeing them in person watched on social media. Thousands walked along virtually and followed their walk. The monks were walking only for peace. It was not for protest, political or religious reasons. They did not want to recruit others to Buddhism, only to promote peace. They do not consider Buddhism a religion, but a way of life and discipline. They want people to keep their religion. They also want them to learn to live with less stress. They encourage more kindness and compassion.

Even online, you can feel the powerful effect these monks have on their spiritual pilgrimage, causing tears to fall. People are tired and worn out with bad news, riots, killing, and political disputes. They are hungry for something good. People are starving for peace. As the monks said, you can’t have peace in the world until you have inner peace. Hopefully, this phenomena will start a social movement for a better world.

May you and all beings be well, be happy, and have peace.

Copyright 2026 Sheila Moss

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A Small Sore is a Big Concern

Posted on January 3, 2026 by Sheila Moss

I have a problem, a tiny sore. A small sore should not be a problem except for one thing. It is on the tip of my nose. I suppose I should not be so vain that a small imperfection bothers me as much as it does. I feel like Rudolph with a red nose flashing on and off.

I cannot go anywhere with this huge ugly sore on my nose. I make excuses to stay home. I’m not feeling well. My stomach is upset. I didn’t get any sleep last night. I hate it! I feel like a soul trapped in a body that refuses to cooperate.

Is this my future? Is this the fate of old people? Your mind still functions, but your body quits. Gradually you fade little by little. Can it start with a tiny sore on your nose that reoccurs and refuses to heal?

It seems to appear out of nowhere. Gradually, it heals. It seems to take a week or two. I try to rush the process with antibiotic salve, but that only softens it and makes it worse. I try to make it heal faster with alcohol to dry it. Peroxide seems to work best. I’m not really sure, but it probably would go away just as soon with nothing at all.

I’ve tried hiding it with makeup. That doesn’t really work. I am reminded of old witches with warts on their nose. Besides this, the makeup aggravates the healing and makes it take longer. I can’t use face cream or wash my face as it makes the healing take longer. It is really difficult to take a shower and wash your hair without getting your big red nose wet.

I should make any appointment with the dermatologist and see if he can give me something to cure it. What if it is skin cancer? But the lesion only stays for a short time and then heals. If it is cancer, it would not heal, would it? Will he think I am silly worrying about such a tiny problem? Or, worse, will he take a skin sample? Will I be left with a huge sore nose to deal with? Will he cut my nose off?

Right now, it is healed. Maybe it will not come back this time. I can go to church this week, but I cannot wear makeup. That’s a deal. Please God, keep the sore away and I will go to church Sunday. I doubt that God makes deals, especially over something so foolish.

Every morning when I wake up, I look in the mirror to be sure it is still gone. Maybe I should wear a nose cover to protect it. Is there such a thing? Maybe I can wear a face mask. I can pretend I have a cold. However, no one is wearing face masks these days since the pandemic is over.

I am the queen of small ailments: pimples, warts, moles, sties, fever blisters, athlete’s foot and toenail fungus. You name it and I have had it. My self-esteem is having a nervous breakdown. I am out of ideas. The only thing left is to join a circus where clowns with red noses are the norm.

Copyright 2026 Sheila Moss

Posted in Health, Humor | Tagged , , , | 8 Comments

The Dirty Santa Chicken Blanket

Posted on December 19, 2025 by Sheila Moss

Some months ago I discovered a commercial website called TEMU. It is a Chinese site selling all manner of household odds and ends at unbelievably low prices. I was fascinated and drawn in to look at all the stuff.

Trouble is when you look, you find, and sure enough I found several items I liked. The question was: Is this site trustworthy? After all, it is out of the country and the prices are too low to be for real. I asked some of my friends if anyone had ordered from it. Some had and said the stuff was worth what they paid for it.

I decided to give it a try. I had seen a cute clock with cats on it. How can I resist a cat clock? It was perfect. I also found quilts that looked handmade with patchwork designs. One was country-looking with roosters that were cute.

I knew it would be cheap junk and take 3 months to come from China. Still, I decided to give it a try. Why do we do this stuff? In a few weeks, items started arriving. It seems that everything does not ship from China. They have local warehouses full of their best sellers and it is shipped right here in the USA.

The clock, the thing I wanted most, was a big disappointment. The clock was not two or three dimensional as it appeared in the picture. It had a flat face painted to look that way. The quilts were not pieced or quilted, they were thin flannel blankets printed to look like quilts. I should have known.

TEMU accepts returns but the items were so cheap, it wasn’t worth returning them. So, I put them in the closet with other unwanted gifts and purchases that I didn’t really want. One day maybe I’ll clean it out and give the items to charity.

Every year my church social group has a holiday party where we play “Dirty Santa.” I probably don’t need to explain it. It is a pretty well-known game and is played everywhere even at office parties. It is much more fun than a gift exchange or even gag gifts. Briefly, everyone brings a miscellaneous gift, numbers are drawn and each person opens a gift. But if someone else has opened a gift you like, you can steal it instead of taking a new one. That’s the “dirty” part. There are other rules, but that is basically it.

Usually, the gifts are white elephant type things — something someone might like. It can be a re-gift, a craft, a thrift shop item or something new but inexpensive. My non-returned items would be perfect. So, I wrapped them up and took them to the party.

After everyone ate and caught up on gossip, it was time to play. The gifts were the usual assortment of ornaments, garden tools, or kitchen items. Candles seemed to be popular. Candles are good because if you don’t want them, you can burn them up.

Eventually, someone opened the blanket. It was an instant hit! Everyone wanted that silly blanket. It was stolen over and over until the limit of steals was reached. I was in shock. I guess you never know what people will like.

The cat clock was another story. Someone opened it, but no one stole it. One person considered stealing it, but decided against it. I guess you can’t win them all. Usually, I put a lot of time and thought into my gifts. The gift I get in return always looks like a left-over relic from a gas station gift shop. I suppose I can always save it and use it next year. However, it is often so bad I feel embarrassed to gift it.

That’s the story of the chicken blanket. I have come to realize that the game is for the fun of it and the “gift” is incidental. I’m still trying to figure out the allure of the chicken blanket. If you ever need a bargain gift that everyone likes but me, I know where you can buy one.

Copyright 2025 Sheila Moss

Posted in Holidays, Humor, Shopping | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments

Reviving Dad’s Birdhouses: A Touch of Love in Winter

Posted on November 18, 2025 by Sheila Moss

The frost killed all my flowers and only a few hardy survivor plants are struggling in the cold winter ground. Soon, they too will yield to the cold. Winter birds scurry around the bird feeder looking for food. It is depressing to look out my window, but I have an idea.

In the attic, I have about a dozen old bird houses inherited when my dad passed away. It is too cold for the birds to build nests now. However, the bright colors would add a happy note to the dreary landscape.

Daddy had a workshop in the old tin garage behind his house near the garden. He loved to piddle with wood and build things. Benches, tool boxes, and bird houses were his specialty.  He had given all the kids and grandkids more birdhouses than they had room to hang. Anyone he liked received a bird house.

His birdhouses were not the fancy decorated ones like you see in stores. They were real birdhouses, the kind birds actually live in. There is something about knowing a birdhouse is functional, not just a decoration, that appeals to me.

Online I had seen a picture of bird houses displayed on an old wooden ladder. As luck would have it, I had an old wooden ladder that I had not yet thrown away. It was not safe for climbing any more, but it will easily hold birdhouses.

I went upstairs to the attic. I dragged the old wooden ladder downstairs, through the house, and out to the muddy yard. When cleaning the attic, I had rediscovered the birdhouses. One of them was a large purple martin house. It used to be nailed to a pole in daddy’s back yard.

I arranged the birdhouses on the ladder. The overflow went to a shelf on the fence. I use this shelf for plants in the summer. Daddy had once decided that his plain houses needed to be decorated. He tried to paint flowers and decorations on some of them. His wood working skills greatly exceeded his artistic skills.

I put them all outside anyhow and they were bright and cheerful, painted in greens, blues, and reds. Every time I look out the window, they make me smile. 

No bird will move into them during the cold weather. Next spring, I will need to move them. I will space them further apart. I will put them where they are safe from the neighbor’s cats. For now, though, they look great just as they are.

So, I’ve now become bird house buff. I’ve started scouring Pinerest, Etsy, Amazon, and eBay to look at different styles and types of houses. I am shocked at the prices, but intrigued by the variety and design. Some are like miniature models of houses. Some have decorations like keys, knobs, or other hardware. Some are painted with elaborate decoration. Others are rustic, covered with twigs or moss.

I decided that what I like is the natural look of wood, bark and moss. The birds do not really care whether the house is fancy. They want something that will give shelter and deter predators. I had already had one of my older houses claimed by wasps. Nothing will run away birds faster than invading insects or animals.

I have disguised some of daddy’s more flamboyant artwork, painting some of the houses in more subdued colors. I’ve added moss and bark to a few roofs. The only hardware added was a horseshoe that used to hang over the door to daddy’s garage. Somehow it seems appropriate.

The one of a kind, rustic bird houses made by hand will always be distinctive. You can mass produce bird houses that look better. However, you can’t mass produce the love daddy put in each of his creations.

Copyright 2014-2025 Sheila Moss

Posted in Crafts/Hobbies, Creatures, Family, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Keep What Matters: Decluttering Strategies

Posted on October 20, 2025 by Sheila Moss

Marie Kondo makes it sound so simple. “Find the things that no longer spark joy. Thank them for their service, and get rid of them.” With this advice in mind, I recently had a house cleaning. I disposed of half of the clothes in my closet. I am resisting the temptation to replace them. This is true regardless of how cute that blue sweater on Amazon is.

I sucked in advice not only from the queen of de-cluttering, but from less known organizers as well. The new trend is toward minimalism. Keep only the things that you need and get rid of the rest, especially as you become older. Don’t saddle your kids with the task of cleaning out your hoard. Your children do not want your stuff. They have their own stuff. Ask “Do I use it? Do I need it? Do it love it?” if no, toss it.

This seems true. When my mother passed, I told my sister I did not want anything. But, I did end up taking a few of her more treasured possessions. I took a double wedding ring quilt from her 50th wedding anniversary. I also took an antique pitcher and bowl from one of her vacation trips. I took her iron frying pan. My sister took the things she wanted and I don’t know what happened to the rest of it.

I have heard of children getting in heated squabbles over possessions after parents pass. I decided this would not happen with us. Nothing mom had was worth arguing over. I think my sister felt the same way. My parents had already given her their car as she was the one providing transportation for them. She sold the car and we went on a trip together to London.

So, I disposed of Tupperware with no lids, books I had already read, and dishes I didn’t use. These were things organizers advised me to dispose of. Then, I started seeing articles advising me to keep things. “Do not give away your possessions. Keep the things that were part of your life and made you happy.” So the other day I was looking for my tie-dyed pants and couldn’t find them. Then I remembered the great closet disposal episode and knew what happened.

Most articles you read are written by real estate sellers. They suggest you keep your house the way that most buyers would like, not the way you like. If it looks too personal, is painted the wrong colors, or has not been updated, it will not sell. The thing is, you are not looking to sell your house. You have to live in it. It should be the way you want it. It should be comfortable for you. So, if I want two computers in my living room, that’s my business.

Thanks goodness I ignored some of the advice and kept things that were really important to me. My daughter will not want my 12 piece place setting of china and it is taking up space. I don’t care. I like it and I am keeping it, along with my paintings, copper pots and Tiffany lamps. These things are part of my life and I want them. My kids can have an estate sale or do whatever they want when I am gone. For now, I am slimming down the junk. But, I am keeping some of it. The old laptop stays. New computers can’t play a CD.

Some things become valuable over time: Vintage toys, books, jewelry, records, coins & stamps, tools, and luggage. I am not keeping things hoping to sell them later. I don’t have time or space for that.

According to statistics, seventy-five percent of people have more stuff than they want. So how much is too much and how much is enough? I suppose it depends on how much space you have, energy for cleaning, and which article you read last.

Copyright 2025 Sheila Moss

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Growing Old with Grace and Humor

Posted on October 3, 2025 by Sheila Moss
Old woman using walker by Sasirin Pamai 2025, Vectors Stock Photos.

I am old. According to government statistics, the average age of death for a female is 81.1. That means I am already dead, statistically speaking. So far, I’ve not seen myself in the obituaries, but there are days when I am afraid to look.

I feel pretty healthy to be as old as I am. I attribute my good health to not thinking about it. That works for some things. For other things, not so well. I am a cancer survivor. I had to think about it when I was getting treatment. Now that I’m over it, I try to forget.

Like many oldsters, I am afflicted by arthritis. My joints hurt and prevent me from doing things I love, like gardening. I had to turn the yard over to my son. I figured he would neglect it and everything would turn to weeds. Actually, he does a pretty good job. If I knew he would do so well, I would have retired from it a long time ago.

If arthritis was the only thing wrong with me, I would be overjoyed. It is hard waking up in the morning. My legs are so stiff I am afraid I won’t make it to the bathroom. After being up for a while, it goes away. Yet, on really bad days, when it rains or storms, my body thinks it is a barometer.

I didn’t realize the damage arthritis caused until the joints in my fingers swelled. I can no longer wear my rings. That is sad as some of them have a lot of sentimental value to me. Of course, my fingers have sentimental value as well. If I wear fingernail polish, will it make my hands look better or call attention to how bad they look?

I sometimes feel as if I have nothing to talk about except illnesses and surgeries. I can’t remember how many surgeries I’ve had without counting the scars. I’ve had so many joints replaced that metal detectors hide when they see me coming.

Another common ailment of old age is loss of balance. The balance problem led to falling and hurting my knee. The bad knee led to falling and breaking a hip. Then I broke my shoulder and so on and on. I used a cane, but as things progressed I had to use a walker. I even a used a wheelchair for a while. Canes are best. No one bothers you when you have a weapon in your hand.

Dying my gray hair no longer fools anyone. Wrinkles prove my age. Creams do not help, regardless of what some celebrity says on TV. I’ve considered face lifts and Botox, but use of a walker is a dead give away of age. I keep plugging along with hair that is straight. I can’t raise my arm enough to curl it since I broke my shoulder. Looking young does not make you young.

I hired a maid to clean the house. At least she pretends she is cleaning. Recently, I’ve also decided that cooking is too hard to do on a walker. We live on precooked food or carry-out. Not cooking is a great idea. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.

With hired help and what I can get others to do, I get by. So far I’m capable of taking care of my own personal needs without hiring a professional assistant. I can still drive, but I don’t really need a car to shop. I can get anything I want from Amazon, Chewy, or Walmart, and my cat loves the boxes.

I have some physical problems, but at least I still have my right mind. Dementia hasn’t found me yet. Old age should be a time for reflection, enjoying memories instead of making new ones. Unfortunately, reality dictates otherwise. The best way I’ve found to deal with it, though, is to keep a sense of humor. I choose to laugh at human frailties.

Copyright 2025 Sheila Moss

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