"Am I old?"
I ask myself that question at least 10, 15, 20 times a day (I don't know, I can't really remember) and the answer that pops into my mind is usually, "Stop wasting time and get back to work." This is then followed by the question, "Okay ... what was I just doing?" Which is then followed by the question, "Geez ... am I old?" which is then followed by "Stop wasting time and get back to work" and then, "Okay ... what was I doing?" and so it goes, around and around, stuck in an infinite loop, until it's either time for lunch, time for dinner, or time for re-runs of "The Golden Girls."*
So ... guess I just answered my opening question.
It really is tough to figure out what "young" and "old" really means in our society. I mean, in some societies, you were pretty much old and done if you stopped being useful. Some loving family member would stop feeding you, take off your clothes, plop you onto a chunk of ice, and send you off into eternity via the obliging jaws of a hungry polar bear.**
But ... back to the good old U.S. of A. If I were a professional ballplayer and still pitching in the Majors, I would be old. "She's really old to still be playing!" Sports columnists would be prefacing "pitcher" with the words, "veteran", "aging", "legendary," and "nearly dead."
But, if I were hit by a bus tomorrow, visitors at my viewing wouldn't stop commenting about how young I was.
"She was so young," someone would say.
"Really, it's so sad that she was so young. She had so much life left ahead of her."
Someone else would say, "Doesn't she look natural?"***
And then someone else would say, "Awww...she looks like she's sleeping!"****
So, it's all relative.
I've learned that coming to grips with growing older is a rite of passage when you enter middle age. When you're in your teens and twenties, death tends to be a scary monster hiding under the bed of somebody living on another continent. You can still eat the breakfast cereal that has cartoon characters on the front of the boxes. You exercise with an "offense" (as opposed to "defense") mindset. It's recreational; you're just trying to create a slimmer, sexier, more muscular version of yourself.
When you're in your thirties and forties ... and the Age of Ongoing Dental Work kicks in ... it occurs to you that maybe you're not special, and you really are going to be old someday. You start paying attention to what you eat, because you've discovered the benefits of fiber. You now exercise with an "offense" mindset (by choice, you still want to look good), but the defensive players are creeping onto the field, too. You know walking that treadmill or riding that bike will keep things on your body from hurting, sagging or flapping in the breeze, so you do it to look good and feel good.
But when you hit fifty and beyond, it all changes. You pay even more attention to what you eat. Yeah, you still want the fiber, but you also don't want to eat anything that will promote gas, bloating, swelling, rashes, insomnia, mouth sores or acid reflux... and you really don't want to bite down on something that's going to crack that expensive crown you purchased in your forties. So, going to the grocery store becomes a real challenge, because what I've just talked about eliminates 100% of the store. So, you shop based on which evils you're most willing to tolerate.*****
As for exercise ... face it. Your players on offense have all left the field. You've got the entire defensive line in the game now, because you know you're really exercising to simply stay alive. There's a shadowy stranger who's suddenly appeared on the horizon. You wonder, "Is he following me?" "He seems to be following me." "Am I being stalked? "Who is that guy?" And then you recognize the hood and the scythe and it occurs to you that Mr. Reaper is going to catch up with you fast if you don't run faster.
There are a few clues, I've discovered, that sorta remind you that you may be getting older.
1) When your own body makes noises that suggests, for one fleeting second, that your dad is still alive and doing something in your bathroom.
2) Whenever you have to fill out an online application ... you get to the date-of-birth line, start scrolling down the list of years, and you hear the "Jeopardy" music playing in your head until you finally find yours.
3) Whenever you can't have a single conversation without uttering the words, "Where was I, what was I saying, what were we talking about" or my special favorite: "What was the name of that ______ (insert movie name, celebrity name, TV show, primary color, whatever)."
Recently I had a phone conversation with my sister, Barb. Barb is 11-ish years old than I am, and is very excited that she'll soon be reaching the "Beatles Age." ****** Anyway, we're both pretty smart. We have IQs that are in the 150 range. We're both creative; we're both smart-asses; we both think pretty highly of ourselves when it comes to anything intellectual. Here was the recent high point of a conversation we had last week:
Barb: What was the name of that awful French movie, you know, it had Nicole -- what was her name?
Brenda: That narrows it down.
Barb: It had music, it was this cabaret thing, it was in France.
Brenda: Oh, wait, I know ... Nicole Kidman.
Barb: Yeah, that's it. What was it called?
Brenda: Uh ... uh ... uh ... oh yeah ... I'm not sure. Let me do the alphabet ... A, B, C, D, E .... no, nothing's clicking ... F, G, H, I, K ...
Barb: You missed "J".
Brenda: L, M ... wait, it had an M in it. I'm sure it had an M.
Barb: Can't you look it up online?
Brenda: No, no, wait, I can figure this out ... N, O, P, Q, R ... there's an "R" There's definitely an R, yes, there's an R ... "Roo!" I know there's a "roo"! "Roo!" "Roo!"
Barb: You mean like in "kanga"?
Brenda: Shut up. No, no ... um ... M .. "moo" ... there might be a "moo." A "moo" and a "roo."
About half an hour later Barb finally figured out that we were trying to remember "Moulin Rouge." And then she started telling me about an exciting new pain cream she found on Drugstore.com (which is, of course, her favorite web site). That's pretty much how all of our conversations go. Oh, we also spends hours trying to dissect the 347 story lines all happening simultaneously in "Game of Thrones".
So, yeah ... sometimes this old thing gets kinda scary. But then I have to stop and remind myself that I can't blame a lot of my problems on age. For one thing, I'm surrounded by neighbors who are all older than I am. The other day, I was visiting with my neighbor, Elinor, who is almost 90. She has some trouble getting around ... but her house is cleaner than mine. On the other side of me lives Mary, widowed, who is in her 70s and still shovels her driveway, keeps her garage immaculate and decorates her perfectly manicured backyard with hanging plants and windmills and statues and fresh flowers. And across the street, there's a lady named Gum ... I believe she's well into her 80s ... and, yesterday, I saw her down on her hands and knees, weeding her iris beds.
Me? I have to pay somebody to mow my grass. (With working full-time and those 5-hour naps, there just isn't time for all that extra stuff!)
And don't get me started on the rich and famous. Yeah, money and plastic surgery helps to a degree, but there are some truly active seniors out there still busting their asses and amazing people. As most of you know, I've been a Barry Manilow (Mr. "I've been alive forever") fan since the Jurassic, and the guy is 70 years old. 70, and is currently touring the United Kingdom and dazzling audiences with a high-energy show that is receiving rave reviews. Recently I stumbled across a photo of Barry and his entourage outdoors having a good time:
http://tiny.cc/l010fx
Almost everyone in this picture is older than I am (most of them more than 10 years older), and they look amazing to the point where it's practically sickening. And they're having fun! Is this what the new "old" looks like? Maybe we can all learn something from this photo. Like the value of making the most out of every day ... finding reasons to be happy and joyful ... remembering to laugh, even when life is knocking you down and spitting in your face ... and wearing sunglasses whenever and wherever possible. :-)
*Which come on pretty late on the Hallmark Channel, but I can usually stay up pretty late because I take 5-hour naps after I come home from work. You know, several months ago I was watching one of these re-runs with a friend of mine, Bridget. And I said, "Wow, this was a great show featuring older women, wasn't it?" And she said, "You do realize that we're the same age they were when they made it, right?"
** This was politically correct, right? It's not like I actually said the word "Eskimo" or anything.
*** My dear friend, Kit, who passed away last year, made her friends promise to beat the crap out of anybody who dared utter those words at her visitation. I would like my friends to make me the same promise.
****Ick, I hate that one too. I have never slept on my back in my life. If my family really wanted me to look like I was sleeping, outraged visitors would be demanding to know why they were looking at my ass, and why one leg was hanging out of the casket. Forget it ... I'll just be cremated.
***** And those are usually the evils that promote elimination.
****** If you don't automatically know that number to be "64", you're too young to be reading my blog.
