The Art of AGING

The other day, I came across a recent photo of myself and was dismayed at how old I looked. Then it dawned on me. I am old! The funniest part about aging is that everyone acts surprised by it, as if it is something that happens to other people until it happens to them. For example, suddenly, grunting while getting up or sitting down becomes involuntary. Nobody warns you about this. One day, it just starts happening, like your body installs a new sound effects package without asking.

So I thought about my aging. How have I changed over the past several years? Hubby tells me I can no longer hear anything. At least I think that’s what he’s saying. I don’t agree with him – in fact, he’s starting to get on my nerves. The truth is, I do hear things, just not as well as I used to. After all, volume controls and closed captions on television weren’t invented just for me.

However, something happened the other day that made me concerned. Hubby suddenly asked me what I knew about dry cleaning. Actually, I know a lot about it. I worked in a laundromat during my college years that offered dry cleaning.

When he asked me the same question again the next day, I realized he wasn’t asking about dry cleaning at all. He was asking what I knew about drag queens for one of his book plots! Although his question was entirely different, my response was the same. “Of course, I know all about that!” Good grief.

In our hot desert climate, I always try to park under a tree. Of course, that’s not without consequences. YUP! The other day, a bird left a deposit on my windshield and hood. A few years ago, I would have taken the car to the car wash immediately. Not today. I decided to wipe it off with a paper towel. Wow, that stuff is like super glue. Several minutes later, with cramps in my arms and a depleted roll of paper towels, I managed to get most of it off. Guess I’ll go to the car wash in a day or two.

Although I’m aging, I’ve kept pretty much the same morning routine. After enjoying my coffee and cursing at the television news, I shower, then spend time on my face. (Not as much time as I spent getting the bird poop off the car!) I’m fighting an emerging wrinkly face, so it’s quite a challenge. I’ve developed a strategy. First, I get out my 10X magnification makeup mirror. I carefully scan for unwanted facial hair. There are always a few. I use my tweezers and practice my eye-hand coordination. As I do this, I think about how different men and women are. Men have a choice; we women don’t. Many men choose not to shave and sport some sort of beard.

Next, it’s time to moisturize my skin. Wow! Do I use a lot of different oils! In fact, I use more oils on my face than in the kitchen. I love my homemade coffee-infused canola oil (I made it because Hubby accidentally bought a gallon of canola oil and I had to find a creative use for it). After applying the coffee-infused canola oil, I rub my nose with tea oil. Tea oil is supposed to reduce the size of pores on the nose. Then comes the olive oil, which adds moisture to the skin. I used to use coconut oil, but I ran out. I normally keep a bit of olive oil in a small bottle, but it’s getting to the point now where I’m considering keeping our Costco-sized bottle by my vanity.

Then come all the other products I pay a fortune for – I’m not sure what they do because the writing on the bottles is too small for me to read, and some are in a foreign language! The rest of my morning beauty routine hasn’t changed much – lipstick, rouge, etc. There are also the health things. I apply eye and ear drops because my eyes are dry and my ears ache! So how does all this primping compare with my younger days? I used to wash my face, rub on some Pond’s cream and a dab of lipstick, and not look in the mirror again until the end of the day!

Of course, physical exercise is necessary. I read that a woman my age should exercise at least 150 minutes a week. (Who gets paid a fortune to come up with this stuff?) I walk 15 minutes every morning – to the end of the block and back. I find it enjoyable – I meditate, say Hi to a neighbor or two, and discover new things. That walk accounts for 105 minutes a week. What can I do for the additional 40 minutes? Can I count the time I wander or (wonder) from room to room for something and can’t remember why I went there? It’s crazy. I forget why I walk into a room, but I can recall the lyrics to a song I haven’t thought about since 1987. So far, the only room I go to and never forget why is the bathroom! When I forget that, it’s time to go to the old folks’ home! So you might suggest I walk a while longer. Forget that! I’m not falling for it – first it’s 5 minutes more, then 10 more, etc. Next thing I know, Hubby will be signing me up for the Pilates class at the fitness center. Nope, I’m sticking with my daily 15-minute walk. I can do that without complaining and even look forward to it. Any more than that, I may resign myself instead to the Lazy Boy and peruse my iPad.

Communication has become an issue for me with the younger generation. The other day, I was in a department store and asked a young clerk where the housecoats were. She looked perplexed. Then I said “robes.” She brightened up and directed me to them. That brought back memories of other conversations I’ve had with store clerks over the years. Once, I asked a clerk, “Where’s the steel wool?” Her answer: “All the fabrics are in aisle 3, ma’am.” Then I asked, “Where’s the hardware?” Answer: “All our cooking items are in aisle 12.” So instead I asked, “Where are the tools?” She told me. I found the steel wool and showed it to the clerk. She looked at me as if I were just an irritating old biddy!

On another outing, I asked a clerk, “Where’s the Witch Hazel?” (Wouldn’t you know it was almost Halloween?) He said, “All the costumes are in the middle aisle, lady.” Okay, I’ll try something else with him. I knew asking for astringents would be a lost cause, so I asked, “Where’s the hydrogen peroxide?” He smiled. “All the hair products are in aisle 4.” Hmm, that didn’t work, so I asked, “What about rubbing alcohol?” “Alcoholic beverages are in aisle 7.”

By this time, I was desperate for an alcoholic beverage, so I hightailed it to aisle 7.

These days, it doesn’t take much for Hubby and me to laugh. We were watching the news the other day. One of the bystanders near the speaker’s desk had a very pronounced beer belly and was wearing a tight sports shirt. His belly button was protruding and dominated the scene! That sent us both into belly laughs. It reminded me that I hadn’t looked at my belly button in a long time. I had trouble finding it! Years ago, I had what you call an outie. Now it’s become an inie, lost in the folds of rolls that have formed over the years! After some effort, I found it. Isn’t that disgusting? The good news is that I don’t have to worry about my belly button protruding through my shirt!

Another minor challenge I’ve faced as I’ve aged is cutting my toenails. So you say, “Just go get a pedicure.” I used to do that, but I had to switch from colored polish to clear polish. Why? Because when the colored polish chipped, I couldn’t stand to look at it, so I touched it up at home. Why did I stop? Bending over can be life-threatening! So, I’ve come up with a toenail-cutting solution. I sit on my vanity chair, pull out a nearby drawer, prop my feet on it, and reach over to cut my nails. I can bend that far. What about the cut nails that fall into the vanity drawer? No problem. I’ll vacuum them out when I get to it or when the drawer gets too full of nails.

Speaking of aging, I just got a post from a friend on Facebook. She and her husband are going to London. But alas, no one will rent a car to anyone over 80! Maybe that makes sense. I don’t care about a driver’s age, but some people shouldn’t be allowed on the road!

I have some other thoughts about aging, but I can’t remember them right now – maybe I’ll recall them in a later post. What are your thoughts about aging? Our readers love reading your comments and opinions.