How many times in your life have you been told to just get back up and try again? For some people, it’s a no-brainer – you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and try, try again. But for others, it can be challenging – whatever happened can be tied to a bad memory, an injury, or an unpleasant experience.
The year you turn 65 is an exciting time of life! It’s also the year you get to enroll in Medicare. Maybe you’re newly retired and making plans for travel, volunteering, or babysitting the grandkids. Maybe you’re postponing retirement because you’re still full of enthusiasm for your job. Maybe you’re not sure what lies ahead, but you’re determined to make these years your best yet!
They’re in your medicine cabinet. They’re on the counter. They may be sitting on the dining room table, next to a pile of unopened mail.
They are unused medications. At first, they were helpful. Now, it’s time to clean them up.
As a New Yorker, there is almost no better feeling than to stuff the snow boots in the closet, slide in to a pair of flip-flops and head outside to enjoy a few months of warm sunshine. Whether you’re hitting the trails, the beach, the park, or just throwing some burgers on the grill, be sure to take precautions to avoid one of summer’s worst spoilers: ticks.
First impressions matter.
From handshakes to headlines, what we see, how we feel, and the way we think about something or someone is often determined in a matter of seconds. So you can imagine my concern (outrage, really) when I recently woke up to read the headline, “Single Payer Financially Feasible in NY.”
If you took the time to actually read the article, which was based on a recent RAND study, you would almost certainly conclude that single-payer – a system in which the government runs your health care – would not only obliterate the state’s economy, but would have grave effects on the quality of care you receive in New York.
But alas, not everyone reads past the headline…
As a kid, I loved being outside. I helped with a tiny bit of yard work, but one of my favorite activities was throwing a tennis ball against the garage and pretending to be my favorite baseball player.
The driveway at my parents’ house was lined with bushes that were knee-high, and on the other side of those bushes, poison ivy would grow every year. Somehow, a ball would always roll into that patch of poison ivy, or I would walk through it while cleaning up sticks and twigs from the yard. The end result was a week or more of me wanting to continuously scratch my arm, hand, or leg, and my mom doing her best to keep me comfortable.