Law of Diminishing Return and Age

There's a direct correlation between the Law of Diminishing Marginal Return and your age. I found this out a few weeks ago. Oh, what a difference just two years makes as you grow older. To reinforce the matter, I just had another birthday yesterday. Whoppie! Hoop-de-do! Not really, but I won't go into it here.

As is usual for me, I was prepping the garden for planting. My original thought was to just till it all under. But on closer inspection, much to my dismay, I took a good look at some of the weeds in the garden. Some of the weeds propagated by sprouting new plants along the string of roots. To till these weeds would equal an explosion of the weeds in my garden. Think weeds on steroids. I had no choice but to weed it by hand carefully pulling whole roots of these obnoxious weeds.

Mel's thought was to put weed killer all over the area undoing my four years of labor and expense building this five times larger area of organic garden than she initially had. I just wasn't having that. I am so much healthier with less allergic reactions by eating chemical free.

Mel hates weeding so she decided to plant fresh eating vegetables is self wicking, 5-gallon buckets this year. She thinks it will be easier on her. Me, I'm planting the old fashion way of dense, companion planting in a cross between row planting and square foot gardening techniques. That's how I grew 100% of our needs in tomatoes, corn, herbs, garlic, and green beans that has lasted us 18 months in 2017 on less than 1/4 acre. So I have to pull some weeds. I'm out in the sunshine, communing with my Heavenly Father, doing what I always dreamed of doing. Our approaches to gardening are different, but that's okay.

Getting back to the subject at hand. The law of Diminishing Marginal Return states...

The law of diminishing marginal returns states that, at some point, adding an additional factor of production results in smaller increases in output. For example, a factory employs workers to manufacture its products, and, at some point, the company operates at an optimal level. With other production factors constant, adding additional workers beyond this optimal level will result in less efficient operations.  www.Investopedia.com

In the chart above at the beginning of this post, I use age as an additional factor that impacts production. On my urban homestead in my 40s, my garden grew to 1/2 and acre. Then, I hit 50, While I still produced the same but over a longer period to get it done, my family dynamics also changed due to marriages and grandchildren. By my mid 50s, I started having strokes impacting my production further. I went back to a 1/4 acre garden again which was fine as an empty nester. The strokes continued to occur, but my stubbornness wouldn't let me sway away from my goal of living the most organic, self sufficient lifestyle I could.

Now, I'm in my 60s for a few more years. In pulling the dandelions, plantains, wild violets, grasses, wild strawberries, and assorted other weeds from my garden which is much less than 1/4 acre, I'm hit with more diminishing return on a daily basis.

Monday, I pull four 5-gallon buckets plus a 3-gallon bucket of weeds. The 3-gallon bucket feeds the bunnies (2) and chickens (17). We do have 15 more chickens and 24 quail, but they are too young for the fresh greens.
Tuesday- my lower back and thighs are a bit worse for wear, I pull two 5-gallon buckets plus the 3-gallon bucket of weeds.
Wednesday- I pull a 3-gallon bucket and a 5-gallon bucket. I've gotten only a little over half the garden done.
Thursday- I pull a 3-gallon bucket. I had a doctor's appointment 36 miles away so the rest of my day is shot.
Friday- is today. I've managed the 3-gallon bucket already, but the rest of the day remains to be seen. I'm hoping that the rest of yesterday will enable me to pull more. At this rate, it will be summer before I get my garden weeded. 😒

Meanwhile, I've planted the corn, green peas, and green beans. It's been so gorgeous outside, I couldn't not be outside. It's not hard work. It poking a hole with a stick, dropping a seed in the hole, and using the stick to cover it up. No bending involved. I can plant four to eight seeds before I ever have to move my feet. I made mine out of a stick we had in the yard. I painted the depth on the pointed end in 1/2" measurements, and then vanished it to protect it. The numbers are big enough for me to see without bending over. I've got another one  with inch spacing. On the opposite end, I screwed a piece of 1x2 to tamp the seeds down. Need is the mother of invention. The stick can also double as a cane if I need extra balance or lean on to admire what I've accomplished.😄

I know the garden will eventually be planted. I'm too stubborn to allow anything less. We've got to have a fantastic harvest this year to make up for the dismal failures of last year. But the law of diminishing marginal return and age are working against me.

Nothing is impossible.

Sunday Stroke Survival: Aging

1971 Shasta camper

Getting off the subject of my ill health woes. I was watching a YouTube video of revamping a vintage camper into a tiny house. Yes, I'm still crazy about tiny houses. The camper in question was a 1971 pull behind "RV." It struck my funny bone. Vintage?! I was getting ready to graduate high school when this camper was built.

It got me thinking about aging. If the 1970s was vintage, what would I be called at my age? I'm certainly not antique because I'd have to be over 100 years old. I'm old, but not that old although I do feel like I'm close to it right now. Ancient would be over 1,000 years old. I definitely don't fit in this category. What's in between vintage and antique?

That set me searching. There isn't one. If you know of one, please let me know. I love the word SEXagenarian. It covers the ages between the 60s and 70s. So I can use it for a few more years. So I guess I'm mid-line vintage. That's not too bad, I guess.😕

When I think vintage, I think sock hops, drive-in diners, and saddle shoes. Today, it's Afros out to there, bell bottom jeans, and heavy eye makeup of my high school years. My younger sisters even had old train cases full of make up. Me not so much. Even back then, I wasn't a fru-fru girl. A little bit of blusher, mascara and maybe a pencil eyeliner. 
In case you didn't know, a train case was a small suitcase carry on that your parents or grandparents used to carry essentials in when traveling. Smaller than a carry-on. My sisters had it full of different colored mascaras, eyeliners, lipsticks, eye shadows, etc. to achieve just the right look. It took them hours, reapplying during the day, to put it all on, keep it on, and take it off. The most make up I ever wore was my wedding day (the first one). My sisters made us appointments at Merle Norman's. They offered free make up jobs in the hopes that you'd buy all their products. I have to admit I looked darn good in the photographs, but I couldn't wait until I could wash it all off.

I guess that's why, until my strokes seven years ago, most people pegged my age at least ten years younger. Besides being Asian, I let my skin breathe for most of my life. Your skin is the largest organ. You need to protect it. I've never even been tempted to go to a tanning place, but wore sunscreen, and tanned naturally through outside activities. By the end of summer, I was a golden brown and usually still am. Not this year though, I've been inside too much. sigh! A tiny medical reference.

I'm vintage and loving it! I'm thinking of finely, aged wines and cars. Classical and not as crude as I once was. Not a beauty queen, but the girl next door pretty. Well, maybe if I take the time to brush my hair and apply some make up. I prefer infamous to fame. I'm the type of of person who gets behind you and pushes you to be the best you can be, and applaud you the loudest when you get there. I'm just Jo. I'm aging not so gracefully, but what you see is what you get. Now, I'm too vintage to care what you think. But then again, I've always felt that way even in high school.

I still believe "Nothing is impossible." Ir keeps me going and striving to be whatever I want to be. No matter how old I am or what it's called.

Sunday Stroke Survival: Oh, the Aches and Pains

As some of you may have realized, I have a pretty high pain tolerance. Why is it as we age, your aches and pains grow and multiply? Why is getting out of bed during winter is twice as hard as doing the same thing in summer? Why does it twice as long to combat these aches and pains during winter? Yes, winter is once again upon us.

You'd figure once the winter solstice (Dec 21st)  has passed and the days are getting longer that you wouldn't feel so bad as much. But I don't. The weather outside is frightful. Cold, wet, rainy, sleety with snow mixed in,and windy. This is one time living down in the hollow is not advantageous. The winter will freeze any exposed body parts even here in north Georgia, and I thought it was bad in Michigan. I will say we have more moderate temperatures because we rarely experience below zero temps. Thank God!!!

Still, the cold has a way of creeping into my bones. Metal rods and screws in my back don't help the situation.  I took my temperature upon rising yesterday...it read 98.6 degrees, normal right? I threw off my comforter, and roll to rise up out of bed. My back screams at me while it does its snap, crackle, and pop routine.I'd slept too long in one position again. I donned my t-shirt, heavy flannel shirt, and a sweater. The overnight low was 36 degrees. Inside by my thermometer was 52 degrees with the fire in the wood stove burned out. I can feel the coolish air on the tip of my nose and my fingers. It doesn't take long for me fingers to freeze up and refuse to move. With the cold, my spasticity and arthritis kicks in hard. Neither one likes the cold.  I chug my morning pills down with our spring water knowing it'll be 20 minutes until it kicks in. Meanwhile, I'm hunched over.

I start up the wood stove, it takes a while to get the fire bricks to warm up enough to radiate heat. I take my temperature again...98 degrees. By now, after 4 splits of wood are blazing, I put the kettle on the stove. A quick trip to the wood pile on the porch, let's me know that the temperature outside is about 40-ish, but the wind blowing across the porch makes it seem much colder. I grab 6 splits of wood (about 30 lbs) into my tote and manhandle it up the two little steps into the house. The tote full of wood sits almost perfectly on my spastic, affected arm.

I make it through the door and pivot to close the door when a handle slips off my arm. CRASH! BANG! BOOM! All the logs sill out onto the floor. They scatter so bad that I cannot close the door. I take the other hadle off my arm and lay the totes flat on the floor. I hurriedly pick up the pieces of wood and then loop it back on my affected arm. Then comes the real challenge, a dead lift from the floor of 30 lbs with a back weight limit of 20 lbs. The medicine is still trying to kick in. I manage to do a hunched over, crab walk to the wood stove. Stooped over like I was, there was little difficulty loading two more pieces of wood into the fire box. Only a mild string of curses words emitted from my mouth as the hot, firebox door hit my affected arm as it closed.

The good news was I was finally able to straighten my back. I walked almost normally to the kitchen. I placed my arm under the cold water tap. I swear it gave out a sizzling sound as the water hit the now black, bubbling skin  where the door made contact. These are my winter battle scars. I have umpteen dozens of them by winter's end. Getting my forearm to the faucet is a sight better left to the imagination. Let's just say that a change of top garments is necessary after this feat. Because of the spasticity, pain accentuated spasticity, my arm drew up into my chest. But it was in the perfect position to spread the aloe vera leaf onto the burn.

The rocker soles on the bottom of my shoe almost causes a hyperextension of my knee when I walk on my affected side. It's an artificial patella which doesn't like it at all. So now my knee aches when I walk. The lateral ligaments also voice their complaints. "Okay. Okay." I sit in front of the computer.

Not five minutes go by and Nnyus, the dog, wakes up and talks to me about wanting to be fed. Now, Nnyus doesn't bark at me. A bark is yelling and she's too polite for that. She does this growling woo-wooo-woo sound repeatedly until, for my sanity, I get up and do what she wants. "Alright! I'm getting it." I'd reached my five minute tolerance of this noise. I bend down to grab their bowls. My back now that it's straightened all the kinks out of it, now protests bending.  I straighten up and carry the bowls to the end of the counter by the pantry. My back thanks me a bit too soon. I'm bending again to take the lids off the dog food bin, I pivot to fill the bowls, and straighten my back to carry the bowls to the pot of leftovers on the stove top. Their daily goodies are always our leftovers from the night before, in this case, it's beef stew. I run hot water from the top and pour it over the mixture. Nnyus likes hers soupy. Herbie not so much. I grab the bowls and bend to set them in place. "Come eat."

My back muscles yell at me, "Quit that!" To emphasize their point, they spasm hard. Now, I'm truly bent over unable to stand up straight. I hobble over to the wood stove. I'm in the perfect position to poke the fire and load some more wood into the firebox. That done, I hobble the five feet back to my chair and sit at my computer again. My back sighs with relief and relaxes. Now, I breathe a sigh of relief. The medicines are finally working full force, but with the full force working, I'm drowsy. I'm sitting not ten foot from the wood stove so I'm warm and comfortable.

Now's the time to get busy. There's angora does to blow out, chickens to feed, mulch to spread, and our daily meal to cook, but all I want to do is doze by the fire. My aches and pains have finally abated. My spasticity has other ideas. I'm jerked from my doze by a painful spasm. My hand is up under my chin with this one. I careful reposition my arm into a more comfortable 7 of 9 pain level. I place a small pillow under my elbow for support as I wait for the spasm to reduce in severity. A tear squeezes its way out of my tightly closed eye. It eventually stops so fifteen long minutes later. I put on my sling to support my arm and get busy with my day.

Nothing is impossible.

Sunday Stroke Survival: The Weather Outside is Frightful...

The weather forecast today, sleet with a strong chance of snow.

Come on. It's a sing-a-long!

 Oh the weather outside is frightful,
But the fire is so delightful,
And since we've no place to go,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

Yes, it's winter. Two arctic dips with more to follow until the spring thaw.  But inside it's warm and cozy. Thanks to the church's delivery of a cord of wood. The wood stove is chugging away. Actually, we usually keep at least half a cord on hand all year long.

With the bone chilling, colder weather comes the ever lengthening slew of problems that are associated with age and having lived the life as fully as I have. Arthritis aches with Rice Krispies early awakening (snaps, crackles, and pops) are a daily occurrence. Not that I'm complaining, but I'm just stating facts. Living post stroke only adds to the reality that I ain't even a fall hen anymore. Namely the spasticity worsens as the weather turns frosty. My hands and arms bear the ugly, blackened burn marks from touching the wood stove while loading wood in it one handed. But it's not just me, Mel has her full share too. Oh, to be able to afford a front loading wood stove. Even a used one.

I'm not nearly as cute trying to get up.

Falls happen with more frequency in spite of being extra cautious of how slippery ice and snow are. My new shoes make every piece of imaginary carpet lint a trip hazard. With the Dantrolene causing temperature intolerance (side effect) doesn't help the situation. I find myself shivering when the outside and inside temperatures fall below 60. That's not like me at all. But my pain from the spasticity is definitely more manageable. Unlike the Zanaflex that either zombified me, or had me shedding tears with each spasm. I can always put more clothes on.

So if you are reading this and thinking I'm miserable, don't worry. I'm not. I actually love the winter months. Granted living in south Georgia for decades did thin my blood some, but I really do like the temperature fluctuations here in north Georgia. The Bible talks about all things having a season. This is just that...a change in the seasons of my life. I accept this for what it is. Within a few short years, I'll be a great grandmother. It just is what it is.

Someone has a sick sense of humor

Maybe if I hadn't had my strokes, I'd be fighting against this aging process. You know the mighty IF, but there's no changing what is. As humans, we always look for something to blame or play what-if mind games with ourselves, don't we? The fact is that I had strokes. Yes, I'm still fighting to recover what I lost with each one, but as time marches on, I realize that yes, my life was changed forever, but it is not so bad. I mean things can always be worse. Just thinking about the possible worse is terrifying. It makes me thankful that I'm not in that situation.

The truth is my strokes only marginally changed my direction. I had plans and continued along my desired path with a few adjustments. I'm still doing what I want or need to do. I may have to ask for help on occasion, but that's okay. I didn't get where I am or become who I am without help along the way. Granted now, it may be asking for help in different ways than I did before. "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up." There's someone around that can help me up. This is the major adjustment in my plans instead it only being me and single handed homesteader.

Speaking of helping me up. I've noticed that it is taking me longer and it's harder getting up. Sure getting up after a fall since my strokes has always been problematic, but now, I'm having extreme difficulty rising from standard sofas. In part, I blame the abuse my left (functioning) knee and hip has had to carry the burden since my strokes. I've even noticed a touch of carpal tunnel syndrome in my left (functioning) wrist.  I asked my PT, "what can they do about it now?" I mean think about it. Under normal circumstances, immobilization and/or surgery would be the treatment. But given that it's the only fully functioning limbs I have, it's just out of the question even for a week or longer. Yes, I do know some double amputees that still can do. But as difficult as it has been to figure out how to continue doing has been, to make do with even less is mind boggling even if is only temporary. I just prefer not to.

I asked my therapist what can be done about the atrophying muscles in my right calf. I was told that I'm doing everything I can and should do. While this is comforting, it doesn't change the fact that it is happening. I just have to bide my time until I can get out of my AFO permanently. The fact that it took five years to see the marked changes in my calves, shows the diligence I used with my leg exercises. This atrophy in the calf could also account for my "new" difficulty rising too. It "rapid" onset in the past year can be attributed to the spasticity also. Notice how this is cylindrical in nature this is. So maybe I'm grasping at straws continuing to hope that the people at Emory can help. But for now, some hope is better than none.

So while the weather outside is frightful, I'm cozy and warm inside most of the time. But that in itself can be dangerous, Without the busyness of outdoors, I'm left with too much time to ponder these things. Indoor activities leave my mind idle while my hands are busy with knitting or spinning. Come on. Sing with me. Then my focus can be remembering all the words, enunciating the words correctly, and staying on key.

Nothing is impossible.

Things That Make You Say Owie!

I've had a very interesting two weeks. Not in a good way. This should have my Tumbles and Stumbling heading to it because that was the start. A stumble followed by a hard fall. I was walking towards the rabbitry trying to unkink the garden hose.

The south side of the property is bordered by a 10-foot high ridge line covered in small trees and ivy. There is a sort of leveled patch (about 16 feet wide between the ridge and the house). This is where I was walking. There is a thick undergrowth of ivy now

covering the area until we get the new driveway built. I'm focusing on the two hundred feet of hose and trying to straighten it.My AFO clad foot caught on the vines. I pitched forward without anything handy to grab for regaining my balance. I went down hard on my left knee, finally stopping my forward momentum with my forehead colliding with the ground.  Seeing stars was an understatement. My whole world was cockeyed for a few minutes. I tried to get up. I failed. I failed again and again. There I was sitting on the ground. It was a "help! I've fallen and can't get up: moment. I hollered for Mel to help me up. This was one of the reasons for me not living alone anymore. We had been planting the front vegetable and herb gardens. The last thing we had to do was water them in...thus the need for me straightening the hose.

Well, my body was already hurting because of my post stroke spasticity and the Botox wearing thin. With my advancing age, I knew I'd feel worse tomorrow from this fall. I always do. As expected, I had the bruising and scrapped knees and elbows that usually accompanies such falls outside. I found each and every one of them when I showered later. I truly did not know how banged up I really was until my Botox started kicking in. Similar to my bad fall just after my stroke when I tore my AC ligament in my shoulder. This time it was my left (functioning) knee.

About two weeks later, I could barely able to bear my own weight. Climbing stairs to get out of the house or back into the house brought tears to my eyes. Of course, the Botox was kicking in again so I noticed the pain more. I couldn't brush it off as my left knee compensating or being strained by the affected side.

I went to my PC. Sure enough, a badly sprained left knee and deep tissue bruising down to the bone. Nothing broken or torn, thank God. But then comes my dilemma. His orders...stay off of it. Now for normal folks this is fairly simple to do with crutches or a cane. But, for a stroke survivor who only has one fully functioning side? It's impossible. Sure my roommate can cook , clean, garden, tend to the animal, etc. But what about things she can't do for me like going to the bathroom. Sitting down and rising up from the commode has been killer. Even with a wheelchair there are transfers in and out of bed, and such. While I can walk with my AFO, I still depend on my functioning side to do most of the grunt work.

The "stay off it" lasted about three days. I went stir crazy. I wanted to be out with our new chicks, our rabbits, and the garden. Those three days felt like weeks by comparison. There's only so much time you can spend on the computing, knitting, and watching television. My mind was turning to mush and for an active person like me, that was as long as I could stand inactivity. Yes, it hurts to move my knee and honestly, it was close to a week before I tried the stairs. Going down I always lead with my impaired leg, but climbing up I lead with my functioning leg. I knew that if I was going to climb four steps down, I'd have to be able to make it back up again. I satisfied myself, grudgingly, with a porch view of our homestead.

Today, I'm back to taking the stairs again. I still grimace at climbing back up the four steps, but I'm doing it ever so s l o w l y. But cane in hand, I walked around the garden beds today. I couldn't help myself picking a few weeds that have popped up with the rains. Should I be? When has that ever stopped me? But then again, if you don't use it; you lose it right? Yes, I should probably have given it more down time to heal, but if it ain't broke then I should be fine. It's stiff from all my inactivity, but I am using my cane. I had gotten to the point that I rarely used it close to the house but until the pain is gone, my shadow (cane) will be with me constantly again. I'm taking things slow for the time being.

But it makes me wonder. What if I had broken or torn something. How could I function? I mean they make a hemi walker for us one functioning sided folks, but what if you had no functioning side? What could I do then for weeks or months it would take for me to heal? Would I be bed bound the whole time? What a scary thought. I'll just resign myself to being more careful so I won't have to find out. Yeah, you believe that, don't you?!

Nothing is impossible.

...Ad Yes, I'm Taking Care of Myself Too

Thank y'all for the concern expressed for me to take care of myself during this waiting game with the Grim Reaper. This is in response to all the comments and emails I've received.

I still sleep fitfully part due to my hubby and the other part due to physical pain. Last night I fell into a deep sleep at 10PM and didn't wake until 7AM. I didn't move a muscle (as in change position) all night long. This became a huge problem when I tried to get up...namely a painful back. I moaned and groaned into a seated position. Rice Krispies sounding with each increment of movement. As much as my desire to check on my hubby was, I couldn't get my body to move. Each step sent reverberating painful shock waves up my spine. Yes, it is a thrill a minute getting older.

But I am taking care of myself too. Rarely a day goes by when someone isn't in the house with us to lighten the load. I usually spend that time napping. I'm still fighting the fatigue accompanying my stroke. The spasticity has worsened in spite of the Botox due to the added stress. Meditation and deep breathing helps bring things into perspective. I have a cardiology appointment next week for my FUBARed heart. The ventricular fib has worsened to the point where I'm having to take medicine every day again. It's just another way of proving me as Abby Normal. Stroke patients have issues with atrial fib before a stroke not ventricular fib. It was a nice vacation from my heart condition while it lasted.

The neighborhood has started burning all the Fall leaves setting my allergies on high alert again. Why can't everyone just compost their yard trash like I do instead of paying hundreds of dollars in the Spring to fertilize their plants? It makes too much sense maybe. Calm, Jo, calm.

I've started my Fall/Winter garden in my raised beds. I've planted garlic, lettuces, mustard and turnip greens, and some sweet and white potatoes. Since we don't get a hard freeze usually until January, I think I'm safe. But just in case I've bought some PVC pipe and plastic. I'm getting a late start this year because it has been so warm up until October. We are still in the 70s and 80s here with night time temps hovering in the high 50s. Anyhow it gets me out of the house and in nature mode but still within ear shot when everyone else's fires and smoke allows.

As far as my therapy goes, I've basically quit for now. Movement causes pain although I'm still working my hand. I'm beginning to think my leg is a lost cause without surgery. The ulcer has healed once again. Wohoo! But I'm still being cautious about the time I'm actually on my feet. I don't want to go through another six months of that stuff.

I just saw my neurologist about me back sliding in some of the areas I had previously  recovered but then lost. Yep, I had another tiny stroke. Part of me knew I had. So writing will have to wait until I recover some words and I regain my balance once again. But the good news is I'm recovering those skills fast than before on my own without going through additional PT sessions. I just have to rebuild my mind some more. Too many red and green squiggles are getting frustrating even with this blog. More game playing and such. Lord knows, I get enough practice with speaking with everyone in and out of my house, and the phone.

My hubby had another bout of severe chest pains today. At first (a few seconds) I  freaked out thinking this was it, and then I  calmed myself down. I grabbed his nitroglycerin and the rest of the items in my jump bag. I took his vitals and called his hospice nurse. What a relief it's not on me anymore. The pain subsided and he fell asleep again. I chanted a centering meditation ditty and breathed. Checked his vitals one more time and walked outside. The neighborhood is blanketed in low hanging smoke.

 I've been busy with my husband's family trickling in at my request. He's got a rather large and extended family also. My hubby still feels the need to entertain them. He has so much he wants to say to them but lacks the energy or breath to do so. He asked me why he was sleeping so much because his medicines have not changed drastically, but he has trouble staying awake. I simply told him that it is taking all of his energy to breathe that there's nothing left for anything else. You can't run a car on an empty gas tank.

I know my readers of this blog are standing in the wings as a support group for me. All the prayers, hugs, and concerns are gratefully accepted. But know that I'm alright. Also know that I appreciate each and every one of you. Hugs back at you.

Monday Mailbox ~ Older NOT Ancient

It's Monday. Time to visit Tilda and answer your questions. Today's email is one of the type I really dislike answering, but here goes so it's out in the open. It has to do with my age and it's a negative letter.

Jo,
Are you insane! You are talking about living off grid, continuing to write, and a host of other things after a stroke. Don't you realize that all these are warning signs of your advancing age and you just can't do it anymore? Get a grip woman! JT

My response...

Well JT, you have a right to your opinion and I'm thrilled to say that I don't agree with yours.  Insanity and age are just a state of mind. :oP

All my decisions are based on long hours of research, dreams, and logically thought out weighing both pros and cons. Ultimately, they are in the best interests for everyone involved.

On the other hand I'm the Queen of Abby Normal. All hail the Queen. Granted it's a self proclaimed title. I tend to have dreams which are doable in time. Some are far fetched but with a little ingenuity can be altered a bit with hard work but ultimately doable. I think outside the box whenever possible when faced with a wall and always have with whatever I have to work with.

Too old? Advancing years? Getting older? Can't do it anymore? Who says? I don't.
My favorite quotes are-

"If you fall behind, run faster. Never give up, never surrender, and rise up against the odds."

Jesse Jackson 

 and 

 

From the movie Galaxy Quest.

  Words to live by. I know I do.