But inking the words on your arm, doesn’t make it so.
When the grey creeps in and reading glasses become a part of your face. When the drugstore clerk gives you the senior’s discount without asking. When parts of you sag and other parts ache, it’s hard to convince yourself that age is just a number…
Because it damn well isn’t.
Age is a natural, physical progression. Fight it if you will, deny it if you must, but there’s no getting around the clock—it’s ticking.
The question is, how do you deal with this unwelcome truth? How do you enjoy life now that you are closer to the end than the beginning?
I can do without the adult education classes on subjects like How to Get the Most out of Your iPhone Photography. What I need is a course on How to Get the Most out of What’s Left of Your Life? Now that, I’d register for.
In the meantime, I’ve found myself a guide, an instructor on aging well. Someone who leads by example, a personal testament to the little known truth that fun doesn’t end when wrinkles begin.
Eighty-nine years old and wearing a wet suit for the first time to get up close and personal with a dolphin.
You won’t find Molly in a rocking chair on a porch, but try the casino. Better than even odds, the second slot machine on the left? She’ll be there.
“Do you want to go to…?”
Molly’s answer is always yes, because she doesn’t sit at home when she can be out and about, preferably out an about in another country. She keeps her passport in her purse, knows her way around an airport, and can figure out the Euro to Canadian dollar exchange faster than Google.
Molly dances with her great-grandchildren, takes her latte with whipped cream, and plays cards. Any and every card game, as long as there’s a bet on the table.
She’s always busy, always doing, and always looking ahead—to the next trip, the next wedding, the next stranger she can turn into a friend.
Molly’s my guru, my touchstone for living, one day at a time 🙂
I throw stuff out. If we’re not using it, it’s gone … I wish. Unfortunately, I share my house and my life with someone who likes to keep things. What if we need — insert article of your choice, anything from a noisy fan to an god-awful soup tureen — this someday?
If we needed it, it wouldn’t be hidden under five years of dust.
We’ve been negotiating this divide for decades now and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
Our place, yesterday:
“I’ve going to have these old family videos converted to digital files.” Silence. Stare. “You still have to keep the original tapes. For backup.”
Huh? The whole point is to get rid of these things!
I’m guessing that my brilliant idea to scan pictures from our pile of photo albums — which we almost never drag out of the basement — and toss the albums won’t be appreciated.
I spend a lot of time muttering about hoarders, but …
This morning, in a drawer that in my opinion needs to be organized, I found two green plastic bangles. Bracelets that a nineteen year old me had purposely left after a first date. Forty-two years ago and my husband still has them.
You know about the cold, and the snow, and the igloos we all have in our backyards — didn’t fall for that last one, huh? Okay, busted.
I have a fir tree, one stubborn rose bush, and a miniature putting green in my backyard because no one in my house can be bothered to mow a lawn.
I’m not saying the travel brochures are wrong. We do have mountains and lakes and ski hills, or so I’ve been told. I spend most of my time in traffic so how would I know?
What the tourist blurbs don’t say is that we’re all just a little weird up here. We do things a little differently — even kidnapping.
In Alberta, a woman and her baby were forced into a car, her father shoved into the trunk. The weird part? The kidnappers were neighbours, went to the same church, and for some reason were — naked. No guns, no ransom notes, just … skin. Apparently, someone had been at the hallucinogenic tea.
Could Alberta just be ahead of the curve? Will the rest of us be flinging off our clothes and dragging our neighbours out of their houses and into our cars next summer when recreational marijuana becomes legal?
Nah, we’ll all be too busy sitting on our couches, surfing YouTube, and scarfing down space brownies 🙂
I don’t like to screw up. None of us do, but some people are smart about it. They shrug and learn and move on. Me? I get angry, mostly at myself. I whine and complain and want to drown myself. First child syndrome, it’s not pretty.
Because I live in fear of looking like an idiot, I don’t jump on new things quickly. It took me a while to wrap my head around it, but I talk to my phone now. Not on it, to it.
My car and I are real close, I’ve been talking to her for years. She’s really good with directions and she’s knows all my contact numbers.
As soon as the holidays roll around, the perfect time to load up on stuff you don’t need, I’ll be starting conversations with, “Ok, Google.” Apparently, smart speakers are well informed on current events and our taste in music.
It occurred to me yesterday as I chatted with my phone that I talk to a lot of gadgets, but people?