Leaving 75 In The Dust

It suddenly dawned on me the other day that I am 75 years old and soon to turn the big 76.  Yikes!  How did that happen so quickly?

This is how I look at it.  There are perks. 

For one thing, I no longer need an excuse to stay off a ladder or not to carry heavy stuff.  And... I can love my new walking stick for rough terrain or even walking around the house if I feel like it. 

Further...  I can go to bed any time I want and not have to explain myself to anyone.   I could pretend not to hear things sometimes and get away with it.  Would I really do that?  I know that some people do. 

I love that I fit in with the white-haired crowd easily and therefore readily find people who laugh at the same things I do. Kindred spirits. These people also "get" my references to things.  They know, for example who Liberace was and understand that the sometimes glamourized hippies smelled bad. They remember things like Keds and when a sheet of bubble gum came with a baseball card. The women remember what it was like, as little girls,, to tuck their dresses into snow pants before walking to school.  Oh -- so many things to think about.

Another huge bonus in my case are adult children and close to adult grandchildren. They are totally capable of living their own lives and of making their own decisions.  The pressure is off.  I am in the relax mode.  Perfect.  If either do come to me describing a complicated situation that necessitates serious decision making, I am now where I can listen with care and ask them to let me know how it all turns out. Heaven!

I also like that I don't have to drive at night if I don't feel like it. I like that decisions to not do things are now socially acceptable. It takes the pressure off. Like I said ... perks.

So ... I suppose I should mention ... there are the aches and pains of aging as well as other assorted limitations. We all have our own bag of rocks (as my mom used to say).  I guess we find our way through somehow -- one way or the other... the best way we can.  Hopefully there is not a lot of complaining going on.  Personally, I have little tolerance for excessive "woe is me"... in myself or in others.  It takes up too much time.  I try not to do the woe thing and I only listen to it for what I consider enough time to be polite.  Dwelling on woe is a Big Bummer and subversive really. It's not good for anyone.

They way I look at it ...  we all know that not everyone makes it this far.  I personally feel that I should take advantage of the gift and try not to waste it or to take it for granted.  I will soon be over half way through the septuagenarian years.  Three quarters of a century has come and gone. Oh my....  

Wish I could remember how to nap. I so want to stay awake for 4th of July fireworks.  Happy Independence Day!  We are almost there.

Little Red Wagon

 

Don’t know how about you, but I like the week between Christmas and New Year.   For me, over the years, it has become more than a marking time week of post-holiday leftovers and decorations beginning to wear out their welcome. It has become a week of quiet of the good sort.  Where I live, it is most often a time of cold and snow and that makes the world an even quieter, cleaner, and fresher place. It's comfortable. It is also restorative somehow – at least it is if you manage to miss the weather extremes.  It also makes you very thankful for a warm home and simple accoutrements like gloves and thick socks.

When I was a child (many, many moons ago), I had a little red wagon. I wore it out over time.  I would sit half in the wagon on one knee and hang the other leg outside to use as a brake or a pusher. It was a time of scabby knees and pony tails. I could scoot along or drag my one foot as needed to pretty much control the speed. I could also use it to gather treasures along the way. You know, things like the perfect stick or proper skipping stones. My old Keds took a beating. The nice thing about those wagons is that you could steer them with the handle bent toward you as you rode along. You were the driver… in charge.  It was nice. Even riding over the bumps was sort of fun. 

Past the little red wagon stage now, but I like to think that I am still in the driver’s seat of my life and the week between Christmas and the New Year is, perhaps, the time to ride along nicely and hope that your Keds are up to the challenge.  May we all have one week to just enjoy the peace as we ease into the next year. Maybe we can even find perfect small treasures along the way -- you know -- for future adventures.  

In 2023 we are able to begin again ... a fresh start …. Happy New Year….  May your wagon miss the big bumps….

Just moseying along ...

 

Lately I have been having an ongoing conversation with a good friend about running and jumping. And... there was also a brief mentioning of flittering through one's day.  You know – I am going to run down town or run to the grocery store.  Or -- I am going to jump out of bed or jump into the shower -- or flitter from one thing to another. Neither of us has run or jumped for a very long time, although it seems we still flitter a bit now and then.  The thing is, I cannot remember the last time I ran  -- unless it was after a toddler about 13 years ago (they are amazingly fast for having such short little legs), and as far jumping – vague memories for sure.  Come to think of it though as far as jumping goes -- I do remember an unfortunate and pitifully clumsy attempt to clear a hurdle in high school. I got stuck half way over and ended up tipping the whole thing over and picking gravel out of my knees. Never an athlete… never pretended to be. I chalk that up to an inherited klutz factor. I am comfortable with that. It is, however, sort of comforting to think that flittering is still within the realm of possibility and I do that well. At least that involves moving from place to place. Movement is a good thing.

Anyway – the whole running/jumping thing makes me think of Hopscotch days and polished saddle shoes and Keds.  You remember – the days when people used their brains and counted change back.  I still do that, by the way.  And – I distinctly remember my Dad teaching me how and that such a process was important.  He also taught me that two quarters are of the same value as one fifty-cent piece and…  how to tie shoes. Next to learning how to type – I have always found those lessons to be of major importance.  Then again -- there is knowing how to hem using a blind stitch. I learned that skill in a college dorm from one of my suitemates.  But I digress…

After careful thought about my movements throughout a variety of days with a variety of activities, I have decided that the best descriptor of my movement of late is that I mosey.  Isn’t there something soft and comforting about that word?  It implies never rushing – sort of a less stressful way of moving through one’s day than that of flittering.  I mosey in general… most all the time.  I mosey along…  yep. Perhaps moseying is one of the best parts of being my age.  I am totally comfortable with that too.