The older I get, the more I treasure the little things that, in my youth, I wouldn’t have given a second thought. Now don’t get me wrong; If you’re considered young and are reading this, you likely have no idea what I’m talking about. But if you ask me, enjoying the little things is one of the few perks of aging.
Now that I’m 70, I find I don’t sweat the small stuff like I did in my youth, aka, back when I had collagen and nary a gray hair. I barely recognize myself today from when I was 40, and not strictly by looks, although there’s that too.
I have to say I’m writing this sorely aware of pretty much every muscle in my body. I say sorely because I believe I feel pain in just about every fiber of all 640 muscles. Did you know we have that many? Me neither. I had to look it up. But my point is, I feel pain in all of them.
Let me explain…remember when I juiced for 10 days to help cleanse my system of the baked Cheetos and taffy I keep stashed in the console of my SUV? You don’t?! Well then, you need to read my post: Welcome To My Detox.
Turns out I spend an inordinate amount of time in my vehicle traveling to trap feral cats for spay/neuter. A gal gets hungry you know. Nothing worse than trapping at Dillon Beach miles from a grocery store when a hankerin’ for cheese and crackers hits. So I keep a stash of edibles in my console. Sometimes they aren’t what one would call healthy snacks. Hence the cleanse. Continue reading →
I’m an accident waiting to happen. No lie. I’ve been physically active all my life so it’s bound to happen that I’ll have my fair share of injuries, but come on! I have had my fill, thank you very much. It would be nice if my guardian angel started doing her job a little better, don’t you think?
Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not putting all the blame on her, mainly because I’m guessing my guardian angel is my mom. But I’m beginning to think she’s having too much fun in Heaven to pay the necessary attention one requires of their guardian angel. After all, my dad is there (the love of her life), her parents, her brothers and sister, and all of her friends. No doubt she’s a bit distracted.
If you haven’t yet reached the age where you’re referred to as ma’am or sir, this posting will mean nothing to you so feel free to go about your day. Or, on second thought, read this so you’ll educate yourself as to what awaits when you wake up one day and realize you’re officially a senior, aka long in the tooth, past your prime, seasoned…
Now don’t get me wrong; it’s not like I just entered this realm. In the US, people are considered seniors once they reach age 62. So I’ve already had four years of experience being old. And like anything, there’s good and bad in that.
First the good: A senior gets discounts at movie theaters and on certain days at some grocery stores — not particularly exciting when you consider the trade-off. But qualifying for Medicare and Social Security makes it tolerable. Another aging perk is that men take pity on me, sometimes offering to carry heavy items to my car. Little do they know I can manage on my own. But why spoil their feel good moment and tell them?
Now the bad: Well, how much time do you have? Just kidding. I bet you think aches and pains are front and center. Actually I’m lucky there. I try to keep in shape, work out, play tennis, blah, blah, blah. So once I’m up and moving, I’m good to go.
What’s hardest for me is going blind. Well, not actually blind but sometimes it feels that way. Sad to say, this is a normal aspect of aging. Things started getting blurry in my mid 40s when I couldn’t read the fine print in the phone book anymore. Yes, for you youngsters, there were once phone books.
I recently made the mistake of buying a 10x magnifying mirror. I ask you, what was I thinking? There’s no good reason to buy an item that only magnifies your imperfections while accentuating those you had no idea you even possessed. But did that stop me?Let’s face it – we live in a youth-oriented society. Wrinkles are not appreciated here like in Japan or the Philippines, where those with nooks and crannies are revered for the wisdom that comes with age (accompanied by great storytelling). Nursing homes? What are those? Continue reading →
Now Don't Get Me Wrong 