Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Grace Has Nothing to Do with It

Are you familiar with the phrase, "growing old gracefully?" Well, I'm not. Growing old, yes! Gracefully, no. It's a long (well, it feels long anyway) slow decline that's been going on for a decade. That's right, until mid-fifties the boobs only sagged a bit, cheeks were plump and rosy, the brain still filled, and the psyche was optimistic. Then I began to fall apart.

The hearing is gone. (This leads to some pretty strange conversations with the hubs. He says the moon is bright. I hear the dog is white. I answer you are wrong, she has black spots. He hears let's sleep on cots tonight. Huh...?)

Balance has failed. Now I know why oldsters fall. Inside the mind you are still 27 with no aging concerns. Unless you catch a glimpse in a mirror or plate glass window of the white haired stranger you are, you are apt to do something stupid like climb on that rickety kitchen chair to change a light bulb. Oops...!

Skin sags. Pinch it and it stays folded for many minutes. Morning pilliow marks remain until afternoon. Don't cough, sneeze or laugh unless you know where the nearest toilet is. Hint, always wear dark pants. (If you have to ask, you're lucky. Wait a while longer and it will become evident.)

Supposedly we gain in wisdom through our various life experiences, but who remembers them. A precious few remain in our brains which we repeat ad nauseum. While the names of our children and grandchildren sometimes escape our memories. And don't get me started trying to relate what I ate yesterday!
Growing old is a dirty business. I've yet to find the grace in it. Last week I spied my hubs from the corner of my eye and thought it was my father-in-law. That shook me up. Although he was a fine man,I don't want to be married to him. My sister says she no longer sees Mother in her mirror but now sees our Nanoo. Oh no is that what I have to look forward to?
Take me away, Grace.

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