Tag Archives: aging

Sentinal


oak-tree-black-and-white-photography_88283It stands tall, apart from its neighbors

Stoic, resolute

Displaying the scars of time.

 

Lightening blackened,

The trunk still looks strong,

A testament to tenacity

Yet, Limbs crack off without warning

Falling to the ground.

Acorns pile up along with last fall’s leaves.

Most are eaten, some are buried

Destined to sprout and grow.

Birds congregate on oaken branches

Conversing with each other

A woodpecker has drilled its home near the top.

Nature slowly destroys the oak,

As the oak sustains nature.

 

 

 

 

Middle Aged Aphrodite


Ive got back fat
And jiggly thighs
Disproportionate boobs
Tiny lines rim my eyes

My butt acts as balance
To my rounded tummy
My chin grew a back up
My joints now sound crunchy

What’s that on my hands?
Oh my lord, those are spots!
Hormones keep misfiring.
Now I’m sweaty and hot.

My body is a temple
Homage to aphroditic me
It displays the historic
With pure honesty.
Beauty evolving
With the passage of time,
Youth Crumbles slowly
Etching the life that is mine.

Tootsies


2016-06-05 20.04.12Who would have thought that the simple task of painting one’s own toenails would give a stark reminder that not only you not as young as you once were, but what little flexibility, dexterity and visual acuity you had been lost along with your restraint when using profanity. I just discovered that, by not only trying to put polish only on my toe nails, but going for broke and trying to paint a simple tricolor design on them.

What was I thinking?

My first problem is that my toes are now too damned far away. I can get closer to my left foot than my right, thanks to spinal damage. If I try to paint by sitting and bending over, then my slowly….oh so slowly shrinking  food baby and its matching middle-aged grandma double chin, gets in the way. I still  can get a foot up onto the bathroom counter. It’s not pretty and my hips bitch and moan the whole time, but I avoid curved obstructions easier that way. Then I have to tackle issue #2.

I’ve never been all that coordinated. In fact I readily admit that I do lack a coordination gene. I can stumble over thought, and fall down over the ghost of pebbles turned to sand.  I drop everything, pens, glasses, my phone, my food.  If its in my hand, an item’s remaining there for the time allotted is in peril. I also have learned that my artistic skills are best left to crude stick figures, and coloring books. The act of painting polish neatly onto a nail is beyond my skill set. And I was professionally trained! Or at least they tried. I can make either a single color that I wait to dry, then pick off all the overage, or a beautiful mess, with more than one color. Which is caused in part by #3.

I have had horrible myopia since third grade. I can now wear contacts to mostly correct my distance vision, but then a couple of years ago, my close vision decided to take a trip just a bit further than the length of my arm. Ironically, I can see perfectly, if my contacts are out, and any object is no more than five inches from my face. Readers, I now own 4, help with closer activities, like  reading, computer work, texting, Facebook. But there is this no clear vision zone. That is the closest I can get my feet to paint my toes. That means I am painting tiny little dots of nail, in a blur.

If I wasn’t so darned independent and very ticklish I’d get  daughter to paint my toes for me, or rope my darling spouse into it. But not today. Today, I;m just waiting for my brightly colored mess to dry.

 

 

Of Cobwebs and Pop-off Valves


It started out as a small drip under the back deck. The water was coming from a small spigot that released water from somewhere under the house. I wasn’t sure, but I suspected it was the air conditioner as it has been quite hot and humid. We were of course wrong. Over the next week the drip started to get more pronounced, finally the beginnings of a marsh was forming. We decided to investigate the source of the fast dripping water.

That’s the problem with being a homeowner. Despite doing what we can to be good caretakers of our property, sometimes, things go awry, and repairs or replacements are in order. In this case, investigation of our marsh/wasp watering hole was finding the source. We deduced the cause was one of two things, the A/C or the hot water heater. That required one of us trying to determine which. That also meant one of us had to venture into spider central, the crawl space under the house.

I hate spiders only slightly more than their webs. The crawl space is spider web nirvana. Armed with a brook I opened the door, took a broom, and whisked away as many webs as I could reach, then held the door open with a paint can. Only then did I dare poke my head inside. The water heater was close enough to the water outlet to deduce it as the cause.

So trip #1 to the things you buy to fix your house store, we went. There we priced new water heaters, along with estimates for someone to come and investigate the actual cause of our leak, and replacement of the heater. The price was ridiculous, but we arranged for a plumber to come over.

The next morning, after church and some online research we decided to take a closer look. Gary and I make a decent working pair on projects, but we both have back issues and bad knees. In fact I’d had knee surgery a couple of months prior. We knew it was going to be uncomfortable for the both of us, but under the house we went, looking for the simple problem we were hoping for, flashlight, tools and my tablet in hand. The tablet was our troubleshooter, how to guide, as neither of us had a clue as to what we were doing.

I warn people all the time not to get older. Its not for wimps. Doing something like helping your husband, (my helping is my holding the flashlight and handing tools) in a crawl space that has no more than 4 feet of headroom, will certainly remind you of the fact that youth has left you behind. Its also laughing at your older self.

It took two more trips to the home improvement store to fix the water heater, and cure the leak. Those trips meant crawling in and out of the crawl space each time, with more dirt and cobwebs clinging to us. Each trip back under was met with increasing dread, as our bodies kept trying to remind us of our ages and physiques. Thankfully, we were successful in our repair, accomplishing the task while saving us hundreds of dollars in repairs. It took us three days to recover.

You know you are getting old when….


old lady and caneLast weekend, I decided to join a pick up volleyball game at my step-grandson’s baseball banquet. It didn’t take long to discover that what few athletic skills I’d possessed had fled, but when I got hit in the head, the sudden pain in my neck prompted me to quit.

That is when I realized that I’m no longer young. I mentioned this on a web forum and soon others were sharing their thoughts. I told my darling spouse about this and soon his additions had me in stitches. He’s older than I by nine years, so he’s been at this getting older than me game for awhile. Plus he is extremely funny, one of the many reasons I adore the man.

A friend of mine is fond of saying “Getting old is not for sissies.” It isn’t, you are going to discover that all your joints exist, especially when they don’t work anymore, or let you know they are there by aching persistently. You are going to find that what you once did without thinking, like trimming all the bushes in the front yard with a pair of hand trimmers, is going to render you largely incapacitated for a week, a painful sloth for the following two.  My grandmother says that as you get old, “you sag, you spread, you shrink.” So far I am two out of three. What I hope is that I don’t ever lose my sense of humor.  I am also glad I have friends and family who’s sense of humor enriches my life so wonderfully. I hope they don’t mind that I promptly purloined some examples of their delightful wit

So, in case you haven’t realized it yet; you know you are getting old…

When that snap crackle pop you hear is not coming from your bowl of cereal.

When you hear your 20 something child’s favorite radio station while on a trip with them, and you think…”you call this music??”

When a friend, who also happens to be a mortician, shakes your hand and checks your pulse at the same time.

When you have to get up to pee four times during the night…and you are not pregnant.

When, the array of pills bottles on your bathroom counter would frighten a DEA agent.

When wearing shoes that fasten with velcro make perfect sense.

When there are more ice packs in your freezer than food.

When someone asks you how you are doing, and 45 minutes later, you are just getting to the list of medications you are needing to take for all the symptoms you’ve already mentioned.

When you take more pills every morning then you have relatives.

When you are wearing a strappy nightie, and your first thought is going to bed…and sleeping.

When your husband sees you in that nightie, and thinks the same thing.

When you can’t wait to get home from walking the dog or any other physical activity so you can put your feet up.

Aside

Its inevitable people. No amount of preventative methods can stave it all off, at least not permanently. I am talking about the aging process of course. We all find ourselves participants willing or not. My grandmother, who happens to be turning 98 in … Continue reading