BIOLOGICAL CROCK, TWO

It's funny how your prospective changes as you sail through life. For example, I passed a photo studio the other day and they had a big sign proclaiming--SENIOR PICTURES. I thought--what would a senior want a studio portrait for?? His obit?? Then it dawned on me--it's graduation time!!!! Duh. Well it IS still senior citizen month.

BIOLOGICAL CROCK, TWO

My mother used to say, “Getting old isn’t for sissies.” I finally know what she meant. There are a multitude of problems I never even anticipated much less thought about. I never worried about my weight until I hit middle age. I guess I became less active. I didn’t go out dancing anymore, or any of the other activities that use up calories. Suddenly my clothes started getting tighter, and my skin got baggier--like polyester. I joined a gym and tried to work out as often as I could but it didn’t do much good until I retired. Then I had more time to exercise and the growth spurt reversed itself. It’s hard work though. Even though I learned about the aging of the female body in nursing school it was still a shock when it happened.

And my hair. I’ve been a blond ever since Miss Clairol was born. I have reached an age where blond no longer looks believable. So I asked my guy at The Hair Studio what to do. “You’ll have to give it some thought,” said Peter. “You can go several ways, but my best advice would be to cut it short and let it grow out during the winter when you can wear a hat. When spring comes no one will remember what your hair color was.” This sounds logical to me but then he adds, “Keep in mind that white hair looks thin and your scalp may show.” I wonder why he’s trying to discourage me. Is it to keep a customer or because he feels I will go all through the stages then be dissatisfied, and he wants to save me the aggravation.

I mentioned that I don’t go out dancing any more. In fact I don’t do anything at night if I can avoid it. My night vision is pretty crappy so if it isn’t necessary to drive I don’t. I don’t think I’m the only one. I guess that’s why they don’t have too many evening programs at the senior center. I go to matinees now.

You’d think retired people such as myself wouldn’t get impatient. However, I find myself talking to the other car drivers, the cyclists, mopeders or anyone who gets in my way. This annoys my husband. He finds it disconcerting when I scream, “What the f**k!” He doesn’t understand that what I really want to do is stop and give them what for. Or stick my arm out the window and shove their bike over. Maybe, even though I have nothing to do and all day to do it, I sense time getting short.

I buy fewer checks than I used to. I used to buy 800 at a clip. Now I buy 200. It would be wasteful for my heirs to have to throw them away. I remember that my mother once came home from a trip with extra travelers checks. She hid them so well it was years before she found them. I have taken this lesson to heart and make sure that anything I may ever want to use again is out in plain sight. It makes for a messy house but at least I can lay my hands on most of my possessions. This will be good when the memory starts to go. As long as I can see the stuff I’ll be able to find it.

I don’t shave my armpits any longer. Can’t see if they need it without my reading glasses, and I’m not about to wear them in the shower. There are some things better not seen anyway. I never wear my glasses in bed with my husband either. I don’t want to see those liver spots, warts, and errant hairs growing in weird places. God knew what he was doing when he started doling out forty year old eyes. And lucky is the man whose bald spot is on the back of his head. Out of sight...out of mind so they say. Besides, the only place I seem to be growing hair anymore is on my chin. And I still have pretty healthy eyebrows, though they do seem to roam more than they used to.

Sitting in one place for too long has become a problem. I get so stiff I have trouble standing up. I’ve decided I’ll take the paper to the gym and read it on the treadmill thereby solving two problems. I’ll get my exercise and bone up on current events without turning into stone.

My mother also said getting old was better than the alternative. I guess she was right. So I’m determined to tough it out, kicking and screaming the whole way. As long as I can lift my foot, that is.