by jphilo | Oct 26, 2015 | Daily Life
Scoff and toss.
For years, the Man of Steel and I did just that every time we found AARP envelopes in our mailbox. We smiled smugly at one another and said, “AARP? Us? We’re way too young for that. Not to mention that we take good care of ouselves!”
Then last week knocked the smug stuffing out of us.
The first blow landed when I got my new, lighter splint last Tuesday and was told I can’t drive for four more weeks. At least. And that I have to operate one-handed for that length of time, too. The second blow came the same day when the on-again, off-again pain under the Man of Steel’s right arm went full blown on-again and laid him out flat. As in flat-on-the-floor-on-his-back-flat-and-sort-of-comfortable, or in-excruciating-pain-in-any-other-position flat.
Between the two of us we had less than one good body.
Suddenly, we were prisoners in our own home. Reduced to begging asking people for rides to the store and doctor’s office. Wondering when to call our kids to beg ask them to drop everything to help us. Not wanting to shift from being the ones who serve others to being served by others.
That was the final blow. The blow to our pride.
Admitting that now–for at least a while–we have to surrender our independence and be dependent on others. Knowing for the first time in my adult life where Blanche DuBoius was coming from when she said, “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” Because going from independent to dependent is a whole new reality.
A reality we hope to shed soon. Very soon.
Once we do, once we’re back on our feet, we will respond differently when to those AARP mailings. The smugness, the pride in our race to outrun aging will fade. We will no longer scoff at those reminders that will one day lose the race. We promise.
No more scoff. Just toss.
by jphilo | May 22, 2012 | Top Ten Tuesday
I consider myself young at heart, though periodic mailings from AARP, the ones urging my husband and me to join their fine organization make it mighty difficult to ignore the fact that we’re getting older every day.
Even so, for years we scoffed when the envelopes arrived. We’re not old enough, we told each other. We’re too young. Way too young. But recent events, ugly heads reared and teeth snapping, make it hard to keep the denial thing going. Here are the top ten signs we are indeed old enough to join AARP. (Not that we’re going to indulge, mind you. We’re way too young for that.)
10. You’re the same age you’re parents were when you thought their lives were toast. Now you know this is the age when life starts cooking.
9. You watch The Best of the Smothers Brother DVD and realize Tom and Dick are just a couple kids, not the sophisticated adults you thought they were when the show aired in the late 1960s. But in the recent interviews included in the bonus material, they look old. Kinda like you.
8. You strike up the a conversation with the old person in line behind you at the grocery store and discover you both graduated from high school the same year.
7. You reject 95% of the latest fashions considered cute by the younger gens as stupid, not cute.
6. You reject 4 of the 5% you consider cute because they look uncomfortable.
5. The remaining 1% you consider cute and comfortable go out of fashion before you make up your mind to make a purchase.
4. You can’t remember if you put the muffins in the microwave or if your spouse did.
3. You can’t remember if you ate the muffins in the microwave or if your spouse did.
2. Your oldest child is about to turn 30. He was born when you were 25.
1. 70 sounds young. Very young. Very, very young.
Anybody else brave enough to ‘fess up recent signs of aging? Leave a comment!
by jphilo | Jul 6, 2009 | Daily Life
This past Independence Day proved that despite our best efforts; eating right, exercising, applying sunscreen, and refusing to wear suspenders and appliqued sweatshirts; Hiram and I are starting to show our age.
This devastating truth became apparent during our community’s Fourth of July barbeque and municipal band concert. We held up pretty well during the meal since we turned down the baked beans to avoid gas issues later. But once the band started playing one patriotic song after another, all of which we could sing along with because we’d learned the words in elementary school music class, we deteriorated rapidly.
I went all soft during the Armed Forces Medley, when those who served in Army, Navy, Marines, Coast Guard, and Air Force were asked to stand at the playing of their branch of the military’s song. Seeing those men, forcing their stooped shoulders and creaking limbs to stand proud and tall, brought tears to my eyes. Hiram’s moment of truth came when he got tearye-eyed during the piccolo solo in The Stars and Stripes Forever.
But the final indignity came when we were too tired to join our dinner companions, all about our age, for the fireworks. We declined and went to bed. By nine-thirty, we were both snoring and slept like babies all night, thanks to our no-bean diligence earlier.
Since we turned fifty, we’ve thrown away every AARP mailing we’ve received. But this past weekend has me thinking it’s time, once we lay in a supply of suspenders, shoes with good arch supports, prune juice and Beano, to fill out the paperwork. I’ll mention it to Hiram at supper tonight, after I serve the baked beans. That should put him in the right mood.
by jphilo | Sep 21, 2007 | Reflections on the Past
This past May I visited the town where I taught country school from 1980 – 1985. I’d been back there several times since we moved away, but this time was different. Always before the tiny South Dakota town, Camp Crook, looked pretty much the same. And the modular trailers that formed the four room, K – 8 elementary school were unchanged.
But not this time. The tan modular unit that housed my old classroom was gone, replaced by a spiffy gray building. Sure one tan modular unit remained, but my old classroom was gone, and I was slightly disconcerted. The feeling reared its ugly head again this week when I got the countywide newspaper. I subscribe to the paper as part of my research for a future mystery novel set in that remote corner of the world. When I read the “Meet the New Teachers” section, I had quite a shock. One of the students from my first class, a first grader way back when, had been hired to teach the upper grades in the Camp Crook school. And her two little girls would be attending there, too.
I didn’t feel disconcerted any more. I felt old. I guess it was bound to happen someday, and today is a good a day to face the wrinkled truth. I’m getting older. I’ve dealt with that truth concerning my husband, but since he’s five months older than me I’ve had plenty of time. Still, maybe it’s time to open the AARP literature stuffed in our mailbox on a regular basis. Throwing those offending envelopes into the trash won’t make me any younger even if it does keep my kitchen counters clutter-free.
I’ve come up with a better plan. Whenever I start feeling older, I’ll work on the mystery novel set in the area. Whenever I go back there in my memory I feel young again, like the newly married greenhorn I was when we moved there in 1978. And after a few hours writing about driving down the long gravel roads, fighting the grasshoppers and using the outhouse whenever the electricity went off I won’t mind coming back to civilization, even if I’m no spring chicken in this day and age.
Good plan, I think. So if you’ll excuse me, the fountain of youth is calling. I’ve got a scene to write…
