Mary Benjamin

HI Jon! 

Sorry you missed the reunion. I recently saw Susan Lerner and Steve Katona, who live in Bar Harbor, Maine - they were visiting one of their sons and his family in LA and they asked about you!

The reunion was wonderful! Warm, welcoming, interesting, fun!

Love all the photos including the recent ones from Saturday night.

Johnny and I are still close though he lives in NY and Florida, and I'm in Topanga Canyon, CA! Far from Rose Hill but I still always love being back in Cincy.

Hope you're well!

xxx

Mary

Mary Benjamin

Janis, sorry you weren't there, same for Dave Buchholz and everyone else who couldn't make it!

Mary Benjamin

Jeff Daum, your photos are beautiful! Thanks for sharing your travels and those wonderful shots from Africa with us!

Jeff Daum

Thanks Mary, appreciate it.

Cheers,

Jeff

Laura Reid (Pease)

Jeff, thanks so much for the beautiful photos...I have never seen such beautiful colors!  Such a wonderful untamed part of the world of which we know so little.  It looks like you got the royal treatment upon your arrival!  Although we missed you at the reunion, I loved your photos worthy of National Geographic!

Bonnie Altman (Templeton)

Larry, thanks for posting the photos, I really enjoyed looking at them. 

Jeff Daum

Thanks for the kind words, Laura!  You are spot on, we seem to be better informed about other parts of Africa than the West Coast countries.  There have been a few we did not even know were countries.  While often initially 'shy' the people have been welcoming.  The level of poverty in many areas is like what we experienced in rural China or India.

We did find that education was often free and even required for the equivalent of elementary school.  However, jobs hard to find even for the smaller number that were able to go on to college.

Cheers,

Jeff

Stephanie Riger

Hello, WHHS friends, and congratulations on a successful reunion.  I appreciate David's essay on aging, and I thought you might want to see my take from my Substack:

stephanieriger.substack.com

On Turning Eighty

Stephanie Riger

I knew I was getting old when I no longer found New Yorker cartoons funny. Either the cartoons had changed – or I had. The old cartoons still make me laugh (“No, Thursday’s out.  How about never - is never good for you?”) but the new ones often confound me as I try to find the joke.

The changes of aging appear suddenly. Or rather, I notice them suddenly, even though they have been happening for a while. I look at my arm, and I wonder when the skin became crepey. That wasn’t true at 70, maybe not even at 75. But now that I’m 80, it’s undeniable. And when did the first hour of conversations with friends become a recitation of everybody’s health problems?  The best tip a friend can give isn’t about a winning team to bet on or a stock that’s going up, but rather the name of a doctor who is taking new patients.

Why do the names of long-time friends – and even relatives – escape me? I once called my grandson by his brother’s name. He crossed his arms, puffed out his chest, and sternly rebuked me. He is six. Good for him.

Other changes have crept up on me. I used to walk five miles with ease. Now I start to lag after two, wondering if I am going to make it home without stopping to rest. Aches and pains greet me in the morning until I stretch to shoo them away. When my spouse says “Take down your pants” it’s not for a romantic rendezvous, but so he can apply arthritis cream to my aching leg.

Physical changes aren’t the only ones I’ve noticed. Much of current culture now feels unfamiliar. I share a Spotify account with my son. His hip-hop or punk favorites sometimes blast through my mid-seventies Joni Mitchell soundtracks, jolting me. I have never listened to a Taylor Swift song. I flip through People magazine in the dentist’s office and don’t recognize many of the people pictured. And graphic images of sex on TV are no longer shocking.

Although I like many contemporary novels, rereading old ones, such as Middlemarch or anything by Trollope, still gives me pleasure. They allow me to immerse myself in a different world, substituting a bit for the travel I miss. The library often has to retrieve those books from storage as they are so out of favor – and circulation.

Those are not the most challenging aspects of aging. My hearing is fading, my sight is getting dim, and my teeth need wildly expensive repairs. But it’s the frequent loss of friends to death or disease that is devastating. A dear friend, who once delighted in running, was struck by a paralyzing illness that took away control of her muscles, leaving her unable to even raise her eyelids. Compared to that, my aching knee is trivial.

I have noticed good things about aging, too, especially the joy of watching my family grow. My children think they know more than I do – and in many ways, they do. They roll their eyes when I ask (again) for help with the computer, but they always help. They urge me to renovate my kitchen, but I am completely content with it, even if it is 40 years old. They embark on trips that I wish I could take, but I love hearing their stories and seeing their photos. Living this long means it’s possible to have a FaceTime phone call directly from Paris.

Instead of sophisticated New Yorker cartoons, my grandchildren make me laugh with knock-knock or fart jokes. Their energy amazes me. They fly down stairs, jumping and dancing with delight, while I hold tightly to the railings to avoid falling. But that is a small price to pay to be alive at this age – and to be able to watch them grow.

Nelson Abanto

Hello all you opera lovers out there (you know who you are).

Nelson

Jon Singer

Stephanie, true to all of us, well written and although the essay on aging is typed, I still see the gigantic loops of your cursive on the page, your continued intelligence and beauty. Jon

Richard Winter (Winter)

Janis Provisor - I just looked at your website - fortstreetstudio.com -- and it is spectacular!! What beautiful work!  I had no idea!!  I hope we will see you at the next reunion.  Richard

Stephanie Riger

What a sweet thing to say, Jon, thank you so much!

Dale Gieringer

 Stephanie -   

Your account of the tribulations and blessings of octogenarianism really hit the mark.

Let me add the following downsides about reaching 80:  Struggling to stand up from a squat without an assist from my arms.  Being hesitant to step down steep slopes or up tall ladders.   

On the upside: Being fearless to say what I think, and to grab the senior seats on the subway.

All in all, glad to be here and share the company of friends, classmates and relatives.  And remember, 80 is the new 79!

Dale Gieringer

Nelson -

  Many thanks for your tip on the European opera treasure trove. Bravo!

  On a more lowbrow note, I've been curious about popular music from the year we were born.  Generally a forgettable, schmaltzy lot.  Remember Perry'Como's  "Prisoner of Love" the number one song of 1946?  (Of course not, we were babies at the time!)    More likely, you may recall "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire,", "The Old Lamplighter," "Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah" and "Doin' What Comes Naturally."

  But here's one song that slipped under the charts and also my attention until now:    https://www.facebook.com/reel/2542887359477804    Thanks to Honest 2 Betsy for resurrecting this and other forgotten ditties.

Ann Shepard (Rueve)

I (as @Chief Rueve) follow Stephanie on Substack and posted this reply: "Stephanie, I love that you shared this on our class website.  As I read, I kept saying to myself, “DITTO”! The skin thing made me laugh out loud, especially, since it happened all of a sudden.  I have another group of friends who get together monthly.  We have known each other since, at least, junior high and some since first grade.  We always begin our gatherings talking about our current infirmities.  We call it our Organ Recital! I appreciate every moment and call being an (almost -in November) octogenarian a bonus.  Many haven't been as fortunate.  Keep writing!! "

Dale: My late husband was about 12 when that catchy tune from 1946 came out.  He'd sing it to me, but I always thought he made it up.  That made me smile!! Thanks!

Philip Spiess

I appreciate that Stephanie Riger has encapsulated our present condition in such an accurate description.  For me, being in my Seventies didn't sound particularly menacing, but I didn't realize old age was creeping up on me like tight underwear -- as Ann said, "all of a sudden."  Suddenly, Eighty was here, and it was something of a shock.  So I offer my own thoughts (not completely true) in a couple of limericks:

     There was an old man who turned eighty,

     Along with some friends who were matey.

     He said, "I can't walk,

     I can't hear when folks talk,

     And though once I was svelte, I'm now weighty.

     [Alternate line:  "And a tumor has hit my prostatey."]

     "Another thing now that I need:

     Two pairs, diff'rent glasses, to read.

     My food I can't pass --

     It just gives me bad gas;

     And I call '9-1-1' if I bleed.

     "And to add to the rest of my ills,

     I must pause when I'm walking up hills.

     I no longer delight

     To drive somewhere at night,

     And my breakfast is mostly just pills. 

     "I eat what I can -- if I could;

     Blood pressure's okay, but not good.

     My breathing's sporatic,

     If not problematic;

     As for sex -- well, I can't, if I would.

     With anxiety shopping is fraught:

     I never go buy what I ought;

     Though my budget I trim,

     I go out on a limb,

     Then forget where I left what I bought!

     In the mornings, when I'm getting dressed,

     That's when at my task I'm most stressed:

     I fight with my socks.

     I pay multiple docs --

     And Blue Cross, it gets dunned for the rest!"

And, to follow up on Dale's remarks, on attempting to get up out of a deep chair, I find I am replicating the efforts of an early hominid trying to stand erect.

Barbara Kahn (Tepper)

For Stephanie, Dale, Phil, Ann and all who have shared what it means to be 80. It came upon me all of a sudden. I knew I was getting old but somehow it didn't hit me until that dreaded birthday approached. Sure, I've been having trouble walking and had several surgeries and various hospitalizations for cancer, heart etc. but I kept going on and surviving. 

I just felt like everything would work out ok and I went from there to thinking about my funeral and cremation vs burial. Life is getting stranger but here I am still going fairly strong. My husband is here too and we're married 58 years so far. We have lost friends and still visit some in the nursing home but we are glad to remain in our home.  I don't want to miss a thing so I hope to be here a good long time. 

Steven Levinson

Barbara, I've been thinking a lot lately about having turned  80.  My paternal grandfather died at 80 early in our freshmanl year of college.  I'm still going basically strong but am not afraid of the reality of death.  The Big Sleep is okay with me.

Paul Simons

I have to say Barbara and Steve you're each an inspiration. I remember you both as calm easygoing people who didn't "create a buzz" about yourselves which is uncommon in the times in which we live. And here you are, dispensing a calm easygoing approach to changes which are often the opposite of that. The problem that I have with death is that it can be inconvenient and - even worse - embarrassing. Like the song goes, "The best you can hope for is to die in your sleep."

David Buchholz

Stephanie asked, "When did the conversations among friends become a recitation of everyone's health problems?"  We call it an "organ recital."

And Steve acknowledged that he isn't afraid of death.  I prefer Woody Allen's take on it.  "I'm not afraid of death.  I just don't want to be there when it happens."

Some years ago I took a class called "A Year to Live," based on the book by the same name.  Each month we were instructed to perform one of the tasks that the author Stephen Levine suggests.  One of the weeks we gave another member of the class something unique that we treasured, something that couldn't be replaced.  I gave up a clock I had bought for my late uncle from Gump's Department Store in San Francisco, an item from a store that he liked so much.  I salvaged it from his estate after he passed.  Giving it away was a reminder that hearses have no room for suitcases, that in death we would be giving up everything we had in this life.  On the day of the last class a bell signified that we had officially "died", and we were driven to Solano Avenue in Berkeley to wander among the stores and restaurants, noting that all of these cars, pedestrians, shoppers, buses and the like would still be doing this whether we were there or not.  I went to a Starbucks and sat by myself in a chair under a window, looking at the line of customers ordering ventis and Grandes, the couples chatting, the laptops, and the carryouts.  No one looked at me.  I thought that if I quietly began removing my clothes they wouldn't look, either, unless someone needed a chair.  N.B.  I didn't do it, but I did go across the street to an Andronico's Grocery Store restroom and questioned myself why I was locking the door.  If I wasn't there, why bother?

Some years ago we rode a bus up park roads to the base of Denali in Alaska.  (Nelson, so impressed that you climbed it!).  Jadyne and I asked to be let out of the bus on the soft tundra with our picnic lunch. there to climb a long hill and enjoy a warm Alaskan June day and roast beef sandwiches.  I noticed that down below all the buses had stopped and noticed, too, that a grizzly bear on the road had captured their attention.  

Perhaps you can see the little speck in the bottom right of this image.

I didn't think much of it at the time, but when the bear crossed the road and became the only living organism between us and the bus road my feelings changed a bit.

It was shortly before this was taken that I decided that my roast beef sandwich could stay behind at the picnic site, that I had always been taught that it was good to share with others.  

I looked at death the way I first looked at that bear, that there was, as the first photo reveals, nothing between it and me, and that it was on an inevitable path towards to  where I was having such a wonderful time, so enjoying my sandwich, realizing though that perhaps the bear was not interested in the sandwich at all.   

I try to dress up the inevitable as best I can.  In a cartoon (one of the New Yorker's, Stephanie, that I did understand) the figure of the hooded, caped black sickle-bearing death is leading a husband out of the apartment and down the hall.  His wife cheerfully calls after him, "Change is good!"

P.S.  If you're reading this today, July 9th, along with Raymond Morton, I'm 80.  Happy Birthday to us both.

Clyde (Chip) Brown

Hi everybody.  What a great reunion of us 64ists!  A fellow Miami alum and AT&T associate of mine wrote a book about folks using the abandoned Cincinnati subway tunnels for various escapades.  Quite a story.  Check out "Follow Me Down" by Gordon MacKinney.  See you all again in 2031.

Barbara Kahn (Tepper)

Paul, Steve and everyone:  I don't see anything to get excited about, if that's what you mean by calm. I look at it like you're in the line at the deli counter and you've taken your number. When it's called, it's your turn. I am hoping it doesn't hurt too much. 

 I had my first major surgery at 19 when I had a bone tumor in my spine that turned out happily to be benign. Since then I've had a few more surgeries on different body parts and I still passionately hate needles. I keep surviving and I feel lucky to have seen my kids and grandkids all achieved really great things. I'm so proud of everyone. They are all doing their part to make this world a better place. 

My father and father in law both died at age 66 so we are way ahead of them. Each day is a new challenge.  I'm definitely slowing down but I'm still here. 

Ann Shepard (Rueve)

Stole this from Steve Dixon's Facebook page a while ago.  It's included in an album on my iCloud entitled "Ann's Journey" to be viewed WHENEVER...

Laura Reid (Pease)

I love that Ann.....

Sandy Steele (Bauman)

Ann, I love this passage!