Let it be known you are reading words written by an old person. At least that’s how our government now defines me since I’ve reached the ripe old age to receive Medicare. Send in the marching band, let the trumpets blare. Yours truly is 65!Now don’t get me wrong; I don’t feel an iota different than I did 10 days ago, back when I was 64. But being long in the tooth does have its perks:
I now notice when one is referred to as ma’am (no longer miss), one receives a different sort of attention. The kind that says, “Do you need help with that, ma’am?” And, “Here, let me do that for you, ma’am.” Turns out they’re happy to help. It’s one of the more pleasant aspects of being on the road to decrepitness.
But seriously, do I actually look THAT old? Or do I just appear weak and feeble? Frankly, neither of those bother me to where I lose sleep. At this age, what is sleep? That’s another trait of aging — needing less shut eye than I did before wrinkles carved their permanent presence into my once wrinkle-free face.
When you’re a senior, you get a deal on movie passes and a 10% discount at the local market. You get weekly mailings from the American Association of Retired Persons encouraging you to join and receive even more deals. It’s all about saving money. Best of all, Medicare pays 80% of your medical bills. All because you’ve reached the magical age of 65.
What else makes 65 inviting? Hmm…I’m drawing a blank. But that’s one of the not-so-pleasant aspects of aging. Lots of blanks. Take my birthday for instance. That morning I drove off without my phone but didn’t realize it until I’d reached my destination. My phone is a necessity, like chocolate or air; I can’t function without it.
Later that day, before friends and I headed out for a hike around Spring Lake, I couldn’t find my sunglasses. While they waited outside, I searched Sharon’s house. Thankfully, her husband found them right where I put them…on my head.
We all forget on occasion, but my occasions are gaining momentum; let’s just say the memory tends to take hiatuses. Your time will come when you walk into a room and have no earthly idea why. So you’ll look around for clues. Good luck with that.
And don’t get me started with the body. You youngsters with skin like a trampoline have absolutely no concept of what happens when collagen goes AWOL. You probably don’t even know what collagen is, bless your heart. But trust me, you will.
And since I’m behind the times with anything technology-based, I don’t use something called Notes on my phone, much to the consternation of my highly techie friend, Hilary. Instead, I make paper lists…Post-it notes, scrap paper, computer paper, the back of receipts, on my calendar…you name it, I scribble on it. I’m lost without my lists.
Actually, I do have a notebook but when I want to jot down an idea, it’s never within reach. Not like Post-its are. Let’s get real; you can’t really expect this particular 65-year-old to remember an idea if I have to search for a notebook, undoubtedly becoming sidetracked along the way, can you?I’d say all in all, let it be known 65 isn’t so bad. It has its moments; people help you more and you get some sweet deals. Plus, you’re actually expected to forget things now and then, which I’ve been mastering for years. Still, I wouldn’t exactly say I’m thrilled to be 65. But it sure beats the alternative.