Grow Old Along With Me

"Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be." So said Robert Browning.

What a crock.

Either Browning was very young or pretty drunk when he wrote this.

I admit, when Husband and I married, I thought it was so sweet, and prayed we could grow old together.

Not that I still don't want that, I do. I don't know what I'd do without Husband.

But at that time, I was young (not drunk), and I romanticized it.

In a rather soft focus daydream, we were white haired, slightly wrinkled and retired, but otherwise unchanged.

We will be married 32 years in four days. I was almost thirty-one when we married, so do the math.

I'm not that old (yet), but due to an accident, I ain't in great shape as far as physical pain and abilities go. I am very, very changed.  I know it will only grow worse with age. I shudder to think the shape my body might be in when twenty years pass.

Of course, modern science might come up with a fantastic drug that will take away all my pain.

Yeah, right.

I was thinking about all this because of our upcoming anniversary, as well as my next birthday two weeks from today.

I want Husband to continue to grow old with me, but the best? Is not yet to be, it has done been. At least for me physically. 

I thank God Husband loves me. And I love Husband dearly.

And it is still a sweet thought that we might be there for each other for another twenty years or so. I pray it be so, if the Lord sees fit for us to stay on this earth.

The best is yet to be?

 Maybe. But only in some ways.

GREAT!

Daughter is still a single gal, so I have no grandchildren to brag about. As far as I can tell, that is what grandchildren are for.

My nephew, however; (my first, practice child) has two children, a boy and a girl. I call them my greats, as they are. My great-nephew and great-niece. Plus, they are pretty great, period.

I thought this was rather clever, until I started thinking back.

The few aunts and uncles I had, for some reason, were addressed by their first names only. 

The folks I called aunt: Aint Mindy, Aint Minnie, Aint Hattie and so forth were really my grandparent's aunts (uncles, too, but not so many, as the women outlived the men).

So these ladies were oldern dirt. All of them were little old women with buns, glasses, thick cotton stockings, long cotton print dresses, black lace up shoes and canes. My great-aunts. (great-great, but go with me here, okay?)

I am now a great-aunt.

I froze in fear. I looked in the  mirror. No bun. No cane (yet.) No long cotton dresses. Glasses? check. And I'd kill for some thick cotton stockings about right now, it's very cold.

But...

You don't think I'm old do you? I mean as in great-aunt old.

Then I saw where a woman my age - we went to school together - had just become a great-grandmother. 

Granted, she married after eighth grade, I think. Musta started having younguns right away, and her children musta had kids young, and then their children must have started young.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

Meanwhile, I thought I better blog today, as tomorrow I may be too old to even get to this new fangled machine, much less remember how to turn it on.

Who knows?

Goes back to the mirror to look one more time before it gets too dark to see.

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall...

All righty, children, gather near.

Make sure those hearing aids are turned up  high, but please, not high enough to squeal! Geez! Turn that thing down!

I've  made the charts in LARGE PRINT, so there shouldn't be a problem reading them.

We have plenty of cushions and even a pillow or two, but this does not, I repeat: does not, give you permission to snooze. Snoring annoys everyone! Well, at least those who can hear it.

Make sure those dentures are in nice and tight, because some of this will be hard to chew and very tough to swallow.

We've got the air in the room well ventilated because we saw what you people ate for lunch. And I ask you, WHY of all days?

But, of course, we have the heat on, because everyone is freezing, except for the few younger ones who are fanning themselves already into a frenzy.

We suggest you sit near the windows we have cracked for the afore mentioned ventilation.

Mirrors have been removed from the building, except for one, it is on soft focus, but you can still see if you have any green stuff in your teeth if you put on those big old magnifying glasses that make you look like Mr. Peepers.

So, now.

Do you want the good news or the bad news first?

Ah, never mind.

They ain't no good news.

But the news we are all hear for is this:

Every single last one of you folks are baby boomers.

That's right. The young generation. The never grow old generation. The hip generation. The hippy dippy folks who brought tie dye and strange shoes into vogue.

We have met the enemy.

And it is old age.

The (Wo)Man in the Mirror

I am not really what I appear to be.

Don't get all excited and think you are about to hear the scoop on good old me.

This blog is about you too, my friend.

My hair has help. I have some caps on my back  molars. I have glasses/contact lenses. I have undergarments that hold up and in and whatever else they can do (unfortunately now, they don't do a very good job, but at least there's effort.)

I have razors. Moisturizers. Nail clippers and files plus the other fancy stuff you may use. Ever use make-up to make  your lashes longer and darker, your lips shiny, or your skin smoothed out free of blotches and your cheeks rosy?

I have deodorant and access to soap and warm water every day.

Good shampoo.

I'm sure you are getting the picture.

Think of what you would look like, say one hundred and five years ago (I just pulled that out of a hat.)

Then go back to "middle-class" living in London in the 1800's.

Yikes.

What would you look like?

Let me help: If you are much over forty, your hair would more than likely be grey. Your skin would be very wrinkled, like we think of really old people looking today. You would have lots of teeth missing, and those that remained would not be exactly pearly white. You'd be hairy in places (like your face, and I'm talking to you, girls) that we don't want hair to be.

We wouldn't smell all that great.

And worse, much worse: we might be hungry a lot. And because of that, we'd be humped over.

Don't get me wrong, I'd still love you just the same. And I hope you'd still love me...

Remember the old skit with Phyllis Diller where she and her husband (played by maybe Harvey Korman?) are home after a party and they are gossiping about all the phony people at the party? While they are talking, they are looking in the mirror, getting ready for bed. She takes off her wig, her false eyelashes, a bridge, contact lenses. He removes his toupee, hearing aids and corset.

They never see the hypocrisy.

Aren't we that way when we judge or criticize others?

Why, yes. Yes we are.

So, take a look in the mirror.

I don't know about you, but me?

I've got a lot to work on, and I don't mean washing my face one more time before bed.

I'm talkin' to the (wo)man in the mirror...

You Know You're Getting Old When...

You know you're getting old when  your dreams have as many dead people in them as living. I especially dream about my maternal grandmother for some reason.

My in-laws and my daddy, as well as my other grandparents, show up on occasion, too.

In my dreams they are as alive and well as ever, although people's ages are often mixed up. I may still be a young adult, whereas my great-nephew is a toddler, like he is now. Sometimes I'm still very young and my daughter is the age she is now. I must say it's pretty convenient. I like it when everyone is in their prime in my dreams, no one sickly or old. My own physical handicaps are gone, and I am free to walk and run without pain like I was most my life.

I've also noted that as I've gotten older I relate the person I'm talking about to connect them. "I saw old John Doe the other day. You know, his daddy was Ralph Doe who owned the hardware store till Jane Nobody bought it in the 90's. Yeah."  Pause. Listen to best friend. "Really? I didn't know that! When did Jane's boy marry that sorry trash? And twins to boot! Bless her heart."

You get the picture. I don't see my mother when I look in the mirror. But boy I sure do hear her when I open my mouth.

Best Friend and I are eager to discuss our ailments with one another, too. We relish going into great detail, and both of us have plenty to talk about. We have physical troubles you wouldn't believe, even if I told you.  

But I'll be happy to tell you anyway.

We gripe about fashion trends and how they aren't fit for humans to even wear. How ugly new hairdos are. How gross music is. How hard technology is to  understand. The usual fair of a geezer's conversation, I guess.

Due to a stroke during surgery a few years ago, I wear hearing aids. And I've glasses since I was thirteen. Nevertheless, this makes me appear much older if I talk about them.

At least I don't have false teeth.

Yet.

When I'm around the younger set, I try to be current and not talk about "when I was  your age", although occasionally I do say that, because darn it, when I was their age things were so interesting and important.

And, as  you know, if you are over forty, young people aren't as smart as they used to be. We need to tell them stuff. Right? 

And the day I've  dreaded all my life has arrived. I've always enjoyed staying up late and sleeping late. My staying up late was squashed when I got hurt and so was sleeping late, to an extent.

But I am now finding myself awakening early, not because of pain or discomfort but because of the only other reason I can think of. My age.

Husband is starting to look old. Of course I don't. (ha)

Every month or two I see a sag that wasn't there. And although I weigh the same, it ain't where it  used to be.

Ah, well. They say old age ain't for sissies. So I better buck up and forge ahead.

Have I ever told you about how I got that terrible scar on my right elbow?

Hello? Hello? Anybody out there....