Perspectives on Aging

Now that my oldies have passed on, I forget that the title of this blog is, "Living with the Oldies." The oldie I live with is me. The husband may be older in years but he's much younger in spirit. When his band plays, I am a ball of fire at first and then I can barely stay awake for the next sets.
My mom shared this with me. We agree it is fitting. I wish I could credit the author but I have no clue.

Getting Old is a Gift.

>> I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body!
>> I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt.
>> And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!) but I don't agonize over those things for long.
>> I would never trade my amazing friends, or my wonderful life, my loving family
>> for less gray hair or a flatter belly.
>> As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself and less critical of myself.
>> I've become my own friend.
>> I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need but looks so avante garde on my patio.
>> I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
>> I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon, before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
>> Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon?
>> I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60 &
70's.
>> And if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love … I will.
>> I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body,
and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set .
>> They, too, will get old.I know I am sometimes forgetful.
>> But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten.
>> And I eventually remember the important things.
>> Sure, over the years my heart has been broken.
>> How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car?
>> But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion.
>> A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.
>> I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face.
>> So many have never laughed and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.
>> As you get older, it is easier to be positive; you care less about what other people think.
>> I don't question myself anymore; we've even earned the right to be wrong.
>> I like the person I have become.
>> I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been or worrying about what will be.
>> And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it.)

With apologies to the author, I changed a couple of lines. I also will not eat dessert every single day.

Holiday Pleasures

I didn't just get up on the wrong side of the bed today; I was cannon blasted into the dark side.

Then I went to get my roots touched up and was informed that my eyebrows are also sprouting gray hairs. Thankfully, I had not signed up for a bikini wax.

So, I decided to take a little time for myself. It's time to decorate for the holidays and my house is a jumble of boxes because I'm doing it in stages. The magic kicked in and my mood improved immensely.

I put my iPod on the holiday shuffle (lots of old favorites like Brenda Lee and Elvis) and started arranging decorations. Every item I unearthed is a memory. Many of my decorations were passed along from my parents so they were part of my childhood Christmas celebrations. Many others are gifts from aunts and friends. I know which ones are my favorites and the family's favorites.

I realized that the oldies have given away most, if not all, of their Christmas decorations.

All of a sudden, the mother-in-law (who felt crummy all day) is singing. Hangdog is talking about his childhood Christmas memories and songs he used to play on the accordion. I caught him singing too.

I'm a little too "good enough, it'll pass" kind of person. The mother-in-law is the extreme opposite. (You should watch us cook together.) I have this very dorky reindeer made out of some kind of fake plant. She insisted that he needed a red nose and some button eyes. Yes, we did it... using the glue gun, searching for buttons, making a red nose. No one will notice but it made her happy and it does look better.

Every year, I make a vow to decorate less. Every year, I break it.

Here's why. Those items I unpack and display represent everything I hold dear: the honor of celebrating Christmas, the memories of Christmas' past and the great pleasure I get in having people in this home. It may not be church but it's definitely fellowship. I packed my bad mood away and relished the time.

And we haven't even gotten to the tree.

Glasses

There are reading glasses in every room of my home. There are several pairs in my handbag, my swim bag and my car. Just like the gray hair, it's another reminder of aging and I hate it.

The other day I was at the lake. Ponytail and baseball cap in place. The husband returned from playing golf and started laughing. He said, "How many glasses do you need?" I had the sun glass readers propped on my nose. The regular sunglasses and the regular readers were attached to my cap. They taught us in Girl Scouts to be prepared -- I'm prepared but I look like a dork.

The father-in-law pretends to be blind but it comes and goes pretty conveniently. If I can ever get the puppy trained, I'm going to work on making her a seeing eye dog. We'll both use her.

Your true hair color

Most women of a certain age do not know what their hair color would be in a natural state. Most of us just know it would contain more gray than desired. I think I know one girlfriend over 40-years of age who has not colored her hair. I love her but she's a freak of nature.

Your hairdresser/stylist holds your secrets. She knows the chemical combination. You could fire her but then you might spend 5 years experimenting with the next stylist until you get it right. Some don't do color; some don't do foils. Some don't do double processing. (I have no idea what double processing is but I know I have it done.)

The Baby was a towhead. Now it has darkened and it's closer to the color Big Daddy had at his age.

The mother-in-law doesn't color her hair. It's silver and beautiful. I can't go there yet.