Just because yesterday was Earl’s birthday – and he is no spring chicken, whatever that means – doesn’t mean this blog is aimed at him. Rather, it’s something I’ve been aware of for a while now.
We are old. I don’t believe that eighty is the new sixty or that seventy is the new fifty. Eighty is simply a newer version than years ago. But it still means your body – which is really a machine – has been going constantly all that time. No wonder things wear out. And need replacement.
Fortunately, neither Earl nor I have a lot of chronic issues that plague others our age. Like COPD or diabetes or pacemakers. Like replaced knees or hips or shoulders. With the exception of my uterus, which left the building years ago, we have all our original body parts.
While I’m grateful for these blessings, there are still changes in our lives that we have made. We don’t get on ladders anymore; we don’t change the smoke alarms in our home with the vaulted ceilings; we don’t move furniture like we used to. Or paint or paper. Instead we wait for our cleaning lady or our handyman or even a younger neighbor to assist. And hire professionals for the painting and papering.
It’s frustrating at times not to be as agile as we once were. And that goes for our minds as well. We do crossword puzzles, the NYT puzzles, and jigsaw puzzles to keep our brains from atrophying. But I notice we’re not as fast as we were a decade ago.
That adage about old age not being for sissies only scratches the surface.
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