Old Age Day by Day March 31, 2010

I just got a call from our older son, who is half way around the world doing research. It's night for him, and I was about to set off with the dogs for our morning constitutional. The bonus I get when I talk to him is it's as if I'm talking to my dad. I grew up in a household where heated arguments at the dinner table were de rigor. We liked arguing for the sake of argument, and our older son is never happier than when he's debating with someone. Yes, he was on the debate teams at school, and he still loves a good tussle. I'm at that stage of life where the picture gets bigger and wider - like a 3D film and IMAX and the planetarium combined. AN infinite universe. But we argued for an hour, which is challenging and inventive since we both think pretty much identically about politics. We covered the health bill, regulations for banks, civil discourse and all the "shoulda, would have" scenarios. There is no "winning". It's fencing without judgment. We are refreshing our critical thinking minds, just to keep them sharp.

He's so particularly into ideas and action and change, and I am about passing the mantle onto his generation. I'm in a supportive role now. I'm not saying I never march or email my representatives, but I've got this feeling that it's their turn. And I don't have the requisite certainties. To me there is little black and white, just a lot of gray cloudy area. Unpredictable weather. I don't know what actions should be taken now, or what the results are likely to be, because I've been surprised enough times to know what I can't know. I'm interested in people's intentions, and not so worried about the results. From this life stage it looks like everything is cyclical, and before you know it the change you wish for appears, but then it looks like "progress" goes backwards for a while and you have to take a long hard overview to see changes in consciousness that really stick.

What I honor in him and our other kids and ones like them is the passion to make the world a better, more just and kindly place. I honor their intentions. That's enough for me.

Old Age Day by Day March 30, 2010

I was only in a wedding once. I was five years old and it was my cousin's wedding. She was eighteen and just graduated from high school and she married a farmer and converted to Catholicism. This was my mother's side of the family, all Baptist, but I don't remember anyone making a deal out of it. Of course, at five, I was mainly concerned with my dotted swiss overlay yellow dress and the ring bearer. He had blond curls and was as confused as my younger brother, so I bossed him around. There was a wedding breakfast, and the wedding and mass, then luncheon, followed by photographs all afternoon then dinner and dancing. It was like being a princess in a fairy tale for me. I guess my aunt must have paid for the whole shebang, and she was a widow, so I don't quite know how she managed. However, my father, who gave away the bride, thereafter took to whispering when my mother was not around that he'd give us a thousand dollars if we eloped. I don't know that there was a lot of danger of that at two and five, but he repeated the offer at least yearly until, well, first I eloped, then my brother. My dad and my mom were married in a courthouse. Dad must have liked it, and whatever my mother thought, it was wartime and they were poor. There was not much choice. Mom wore a navy blue suit with a corsage, and dad his uniform. I know Mom would have loved to make my dress and have a fuss, but I never knew if my dad regretted his tactic. If I hadn't gotten a divorce and later remarried, my parents would never have been able to attend one of their kid's weddings. Since my second was only fifteen people, it was extremely inexpensive and manageable, and my father got to wear his tuxedo and take home the flowers. I believe the whole thing cost around three hundred dollars. Ah, the good old days. Now you can't get the wedding shoes for that price, and the dresses are the cost of new cars and the whole celebration would pay outright for a nice house.

I forgot the bouquet. I loved my bouquet of baby yellow roses. I made certain that my daughter, who was three at the time, had a tiny bouquet of pink roses when she walked up the isle ahead of me. My son, who was five, wanted to go in the car with my husband and I from the church to my parents' house. He started sobbing on the church steps, but my dad lured him into his car with the promise of ice cream. That's still a good way to get him to do something.

I don't know why I've never been the maid of honor or matron of honor. I've been invited to plenty of weddings, but since I was already married at nineteen, I think I was not bridal party material. That is, up until now. Who knows what the future holds? And if not, I've got a black and white photo of my cousin, the groom, the six of each gender attendants and myself and the ring bearer, immortalized. I am grinning like the cat who swallowed the canary.

Old Age Day by Day March 29, 2010

Today it was misty/rainy and my knees ached every time I went up and down the stairs. I really don't love this my-body-as-weather report phenomenon. I'd like my body to shut up and stop nagging me to lose weight, go to the gym and take up pilates again. I have enough trouble coping with busy mind without chatty cathy body piping up every chance it gets. My body having a mind of its own means two minds trying to out yell each other, and I'd like a little peace and quiet, thank you very much. I do love the rain, though, and my foster granddaughter said the air smelled like flowers, and we traipsed around without raincoats or umbrellas (she refusing and me in solidarity). We colored as if our life depended on it, played the match up game many times (she beat me legitimately - old age memory loss) and dyed eggs. I now have extremely lovely pastel fingers, and she has an interesting spotted effect on her hands from markers.

So maybe I need a bath tonight, as hot as I can make it, and the old knees will sigh with relief, and fall into a doze. I'll not go up and down the stairs tonight to give them a break. But if that doesn't work, I'm going to pull out all the stops tomorrow and pretend I'm a twenty year old training for a long distance race. I can't take all this self expression from my body parts. They need to get in line, shape up or ship out. Oops! Maybe not ship out, as I do need them all, I just want them to grin and bear it. We're alive aren't we? Give me break! No, I didn't mean it, really I didn't.

Old Age Day by Day March 28, 2010

Last night we had friends over for dinner and during the course of discussing various grandchildren, one of them said, "I hate to admit it, but I've actually seen the chipmunks film, the Sqweakquel". I was so relieved I practically kissed her. I promptly confessed I'd seen it with my foster granddaughter. This was right before I loaned them "Up". Thus is the power of tiny children. I waited decades to watch a movie that wasn't G or PG13, and here I am back to G again, having worked my way up to R. Next we were making playdates between granddaughters. It's a kind of regression, but this time I'm more comfortable with it. At my time of life I understand that it really isn't important if I see the new hot movie or read the bestseller. I no longer attempt to "keep up". When your body slows you down, it's annoying but at the same time a relief, because you can just walk around with a tennis racket without actually having played a game, or even better yet, not carry a racket. Who cares? We've all had friends who, after a squash match keeled over with a heart attack. There are no guarantees. The equation between fitness and luck shifts. You stop taking credit for your health and begin letting go.

It's freeing. It may not be a march downtown with banners, but we often do that as well, because so what if you land in jail? It's going to spoil your career? Hah! Call me a felon, an unsophisticated moviegoer, an inactive senior, a socialist. Label me any old way you want. 'Cause sticks and stones can break my bones, but labels - well, they belong on soup cans. I am way too complex, and also way too simple, for any of the social shortcuts. No self justification necessary.

Old Age Day by Day March 26,2010

You ever hear of the war of the baby pictures? Well, it's silent, it runs deep, and it's only known to grandmothers. My best friend and I are sharing photos, and thank goodness her granddaughter is blond and blue eyed and mine is dark haired with dark eyes. Both are, of course, unbelievably adorable, and even if the ordinary citizen cannot see their uniqueness, we know, we really know. There is a pact among us grandmothers: to ooh and aah over each photo, description and developmental milestone with as much vigor and commitment as our declining strength allows (maybe a little jealousy here and there, but we repulse such immature feelings) and to basically wallow in the joys of grandparenthood with someone who is equally committed (maybe in several senses of the word) to worship and adoration.

It actually rubs off on all encounters with babies and children. I used to think some were ill behaved and tiresome. Now they all seem irresistible, even in their wee little grocery store tantrums. I prefer speaking with little people nowadays - I find their mispronounced words and thoughts on the nature of the universe cute and even, dare I say it, profound.

The textbooks talk about baby love when referring to the bond between parent and child, but hey, they ain't seen nothin yet. It's like entering a Disney cartoon and all the little critters are so squeezably soft you would follow them anywhere - down a coal mine; into the vortex at the bottom of the well. Their chirping is music to your ears, and by the way, soon you are singing Whistle While You Work and Down Under the Sea. Yes, it does have it's frightening aspect, but at our age, we must try new things. My friends and I are trying out a religion of the babyhood. So if you see us, run. We have many, many photos in our bags, and if we get your email address, we'll be sending you videos of the little geniuses. Run screaming from us. We are extremely determined and we're retired, so we have a lot of time to pursue you.

Old Age Day by Day March 25, 2010

You know you're getting old when you can't take advantage of short layovers between planes. I USED to be able to get off one flight and rush toward the baggage claim and smile and nod through customs and make the gate with time to spare. Now the two hours is no longer enough, and I need more like five hours, but will book a flight with three hours between. Mind you, this is all post 9/11. This IS old age. A couple of years ago my friend and I were attempting to catch a flight from Paris back home, and we had come from Florence (I know, what a rough life I lead) and I attempted speed walking while my friend yelled (well, I won't repeat it, it was not her best moment) and said she'd catch up. I was purple in the face, dragging my carry on which weighed more than I did, and when I reached the gate it was deserted. Luckily, it was Paris, so the flight had just been delayed, and I swore to my friend it was not worth a heart attack to get home. And what kind of dumb were we anyway? We wanted to leave Paris? Well, we had run out of money, so it was best to catch the flight.

A few months later my husband and I were returning from visiting our daughter abroad, and we hit the vortex called JFK. Risking permanent injury to knees and joints we panted our way through baggage, customs and the 17 miles to the other gate to discover our seats had been sold 50 minutes before the flight. We were mad, we were indignant, but who cared? Not the airline. So we flopped on the dirty floor at a gate waiting for standby, but not before fortifying ourselves with a beer (it's healthy for the elderly). After every other passenger had been seated, they graciously allowed us on the plane, where we waited for two hours to lift off. We were number 79th in line. I can still remember the number. Now, if we were younger, we could have chatted inanely on our cell phones, but we're not of that generation. We were tired, hungry, my sciatic nerve was paralyzing my right leg, and we needed hospitalization.

There need to be special flights for us older customers, where you are on a conveyer belt reserved for those of us to whom marathons are a thing of the past. Well, past fantasies. While we're lying there on the belt they can x ray us, slide off our shoes, look in our ears and throat - kind of a travel cum health check up kind of deal. Just don't make me walk.

Old Age Day by Day March 24, 2010

There was an article in the paper this morning about how older women need to exercise an hour a day because it's hard to lose weight when you're our age. Hello!? For whom is this supposed to be news? Not me and my whiny friends, who have been aware of this phenomenon for quite some time. Basically, you need to run behind a Nascar and eat one quarter cup of food per day, but don't drink anything with calories in it or the weight loss won't happen.

Why is it that science lags behind common knowledge every single time. If the scientists would just ask some real people, they would save a great deal of grant money for other purposes, like eradicating cancer. It's also true that mixing six drugs is not beneficial to your health, even if each and every one of them addresses a health problem, and that lying on the couch watching TV is bad for the brain. Unless you can earn a living reciting commercial jingles. And so few of us can. Also, stuffing rats with cosmetics is detrimental to their health, as is having rats in a lab without doing anything to them. My husband, who is a scientist, but wisely sticks to microscopic critters, once liberated all the frogs about to be dissected in his high school lab. He is usually found torturing something like wheat or corn, which I can live with.

I need to revamp my house so that all the floors are a treadmill and the plates and cups weight five pounds each, and the refrigerator is locked and only can be opened by voice recognition or thumbprint (but not mine). However, there would still be restaurants, and even getting rid of the car wouldn't help, because there are enough places to eat within (easy, not calorie burning) walking distance.

You know what that means - WILLPOWER. The dreaded W word (I don't mean the retired guy in Texas). I think I'll just have to continue losing a pound a year, and upping the fiber - my new snacks will be bamboo and small pebbles, dipped in spray-on chocolate. I'll get slim and fit, just you wait and see. Actually, better not, this could take a really long time.