Ice Cream and Old Age

Don’t you just hate it when you wake up and realize you’re old? That’s it. I woke up. I’m old. That’s all I’ve got. And then?

Well, and then I figured it could be a whole lot worse than realizing I’m old. I could be old and cranky. I could be old and ugly. I could be old and stupid. I’m not really cranky. Although I did wake up this morning thinking “Wait a second, that didn’t hurt yesterday. Dammit!” That made me a titch tetchy. However, I did manage to put my slippers on without breaking my neck then hobbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Well, I may not be ugly (just my opinion), but hokeydoodle when did all of those dark spots and wrinkles show up? I washed my face, did my morning thing and went in search of a coffee and realized I didn’t take my pills. I wouldn’t say that’s stupidity, I was just really focused on getting that first cuppa Joe into my gob before I attempted anything that requires concentration of any kind. So, I’m not old and stupid, I just in need a buzz of caffeine to jump start the thinking process. Was I always a titch tetchy in the morning? I don’t know. I don’t think I want to ask anyone that particular question. I’m sure the kids would have something to say about it. I might not like the answer. So, here I sit, thinking about being old and wondering how the heck I managed to fly from being twenty years old to the shady side of seventy, almost in the blink of an eye.

Apparently, ageing brings wisdom. It is because of my newfound wisdom I do know where I left my car keys. Now I am wise enough to live by the rule “Don’t put it down, put it away”. I’ve learned, like a lot of all y’all, it isn’t safe to assume I’ll remember where I put something, even if it’s “just for a minute”. Before I adopted the “put it away” lifestyle I misplaced a bulky winter coat, a pair of turquoise boots, untold numbers of kitchen utensils, scissors, garden implements, a wheelbarrow, my cellphone, paint brushes, earrings, a camp stove, a picnic shelter, a portable air conditioner, a large piece of stained glass art, library books and untold numbers of haircare products. Life lessons take on a new meaning when you’re seventy-something. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked frantically for something I had in my hand. “Where the H E double hockey sticks is the newspaper?” Oh, never mind. In addition to the “put it away” lifestyle I’ve also adopted the “pat yourself down first before you lose your cool” process. Apparently, age brings wisdom and I am old enough and wise enough to know all of those items didn’t just get up and walk away. Now I put them away where they belong.

The other issue, for me, is I’ve become a bit of a scatterbrain. Like a lot of adults who have raised children, it’s easy to lose focus and it becomes a habit to have several things on the go at the same time. The trick, as you age, is to remember while you’re vacuuming the living room the twittering sound is the timer for the cake. The cake you put in the oven just before you decided to do a bit of tidy-up and then promptly forgot it was in the oven. I can’t tell you how many times I had teased my mom about her supposed multi-tasking, which usually turned into multi-forgetting and too many things going on at once-ing. I didn’t think I’d become “that person”. But here I am, I’m that person. I am currently training myself to do only one thing at a time. But I can’t pretend I’ll remember I was weeding planters when I go into the barn to get a garden waste bag and spend two hours cleaning the garden shelves completely forgetting about the planters. On the upside of being “old”, I can pretty much do as I please and no one really gives a good gosh darn. As a matter of fact, I think the word observers use for old farts’ behaviour is “eccentric”. I’m okay with eccentric. If I want to eat ice cream for lunch, I will eat ice cream for lunch. And I have done just that. The downside of being old is I tend to coax others, LOML or my friends, down to my level of zaniness. It’s a quick trip for the willing.

So, I’ll enjoy being all of the things a couple of wise women once told me to be. I am myself. Thanks to the Janets in my life.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca