November 16 - My 88th Birthday
Eighty-eight years ago today, in Brooklyn, I became the first grandchild in two large Irish families and have dozens of first cousins. We meet at family functions (weddings, graduations, funerals) where I’d anticipated being treated as the Matriarch, sought for sage advice. But the sad truth is my role became more “Canary in the Coal Mine” foretelling the genetic health issues my relatives might foresee. And what’s the secret of getting to old age.
I confess that exhaustive research on aging has not made life easier. Diligently following the many authorities writing about my demographic hasn’t helped much because they mean well, bless their hearts, but they tend to champion the obvious. For example, they encourage us to eat well (they lean toward kale and blueberries), exercise properly (work on your Pilates) and plan ahead (you plan, God laughs).
I confess that exhaustive research on aging has not made life easier. Diligently following the many authorities writing about my demographic hasn’t helped much because they mean well, bless their hearts, but they tend to champion the obvious. For example, they encourage us to eat well (they lean toward kale and blueberries), exercise properly (work on your Pilates) and plan ahead (you plan, God laughs).
Having buried friends who practically lived in a gym and ate organic food in sensible portions, let me tell you there’s only one thing crucial to living long. LUCK. Dumb luck! You skipped having a terminal illness or being a traffic fatality. Or your spouse didn’t own a gun.
And sadly why is there so much emphasis on keeping your body strong when losing your mind is the most cruel and heartbreaking threat? And worse yet, those professionals who earnestly prod us to work toward an awesome old age don’t proffer a clue on what’s waiting there. Past eighty you will face unchartered waters and there be dragons.
Advancing age, like fog, comes in slowly on little cat feet. The forties may have had some challenges but the downhill slide began in your late fifties as your arms prove too short to allow reading small print. So you reluctantly buy readers and cataract surgery becomes an option. Moving on to sixties, you girls will see your waists begin inching upward threatening a nasty clash as bosoms slide downward. And guys’ waists also rise up so they begin belting their pants inches under their armpits. And buy a recliner.
Deterioration in your seventies has the velocity of autumn being gradual and incremental and you will absolutely require a sense of humor. Moving parts come into play. Knees lose their thrust and teeth became wobbly. Your chin puts out a second edition. Your skin gets spotted and sprouts nasty bumps in the most inconvenient locations.
And sadly why is there so much emphasis on keeping your body strong when losing your mind is the most cruel and heartbreaking threat? And worse yet, those professionals who earnestly prod us to work toward an awesome old age don’t proffer a clue on what’s waiting there. Past eighty you will face unchartered waters and there be dragons.
Advancing age, like fog, comes in slowly on little cat feet. The forties may have had some challenges but the downhill slide began in your late fifties as your arms prove too short to allow reading small print. So you reluctantly buy readers and cataract surgery becomes an option. Moving on to sixties, you girls will see your waists begin inching upward threatening a nasty clash as bosoms slide downward. And guys’ waists also rise up so they begin belting their pants inches under their armpits. And buy a recliner.
Deterioration in your seventies has the velocity of autumn being gradual and incremental and you will absolutely require a sense of humor. Moving parts come into play. Knees lose their thrust and teeth became wobbly. Your chin puts out a second edition. Your skin gets spotted and sprouts nasty bumps in the most inconvenient locations.
I was blindsided when old age, the 80’s, arrived swifter than imagined and I had to come to grips with its unanticipated implications. My skin, once a cross between silk and velvet, morphed into seersucker and worse yet, thin seersucker. Veins once discretely tucked inside began rising to the surface, pushing against tissue-thin skin causing my legs to resemble a topographical map of the Himalayas
One valuable tip is that those in your 70’s who have a Bucket List get cracking while your legs still work and your breath can keep up. Because in your eighties odds are that adventures involving long walks, stairs and a scarcity of bath rooms will be out of reach. The good news is that those tantalizing exploits you fancied will slowly fade away as it becomes woefully clear that, as the saying goes, your get up and go… got up and went.
Most women will find mustaches forming while you guys have singular issues. As the hair on your head inches up, up and away it is replaced by tufts sprouting out of ears and nose. And as your manly chests qualify for Seinfeld’s manzire you’ll realize those hands sticking out of your sleeves once belonged to your grandfather.
The Fountain of Youth is a myth but its spirit plows on having mutated into a series of franchises like Walgreens and Rite Aid. My medicine chest which once housed some aspirin and scads of make-up is now fully loaded with pills of every description. Pills to reduce my blood pressure, pills to thin my blood, pills to off-set the minerals I lose because of aforementioned drugs and the beat goes on. There is however only one immutable law about pills in old age…never refuse a breath mint (I’m talking to you Uncle Walt).
One valuable tip is that those in your 70’s who have a Bucket List get cracking while your legs still work and your breath can keep up. Because in your eighties odds are that adventures involving long walks, stairs and a scarcity of bath rooms will be out of reach. The good news is that those tantalizing exploits you fancied will slowly fade away as it becomes woefully clear that, as the saying goes, your get up and go… got up and went.
Most women will find mustaches forming while you guys have singular issues. As the hair on your head inches up, up and away it is replaced by tufts sprouting out of ears and nose. And as your manly chests qualify for Seinfeld’s manzire you’ll realize those hands sticking out of your sleeves once belonged to your grandfather.
The Fountain of Youth is a myth but its spirit plows on having mutated into a series of franchises like Walgreens and Rite Aid. My medicine chest which once housed some aspirin and scads of make-up is now fully loaded with pills of every description. Pills to reduce my blood pressure, pills to thin my blood, pills to off-set the minerals I lose because of aforementioned drugs and the beat goes on. There is however only one immutable law about pills in old age…never refuse a breath mint (I’m talking to you Uncle Walt).
Check out a good magnifying mirror and prepare for a shock. Wrinkles look like craters. In addition to the aforementioned mustache long hairs sprout out of your chin. Little lumps usually found on old potatoes are scattered about. In the mobility department curbs became a challenge but stairs, the nemesis of some, are my specialty. Because for 35 years I have lived in a third floor walkup and know how to traverse a steep staircase. Carefully! Meanwhile carrying bundles upstairs has given me upper body strength allowing me to open pickle jars (and the occasional champagne) at senior events. A valuable, if underrated, party trick!
It’s been reassuring that many of the humiliating indignities of old age can be judiciously managed. Pre-ordained conditions like poor hearing, incontinence and arthritis are daunting and demand to be approached with wit. Grandma O’Donohue claimed she went to bed every night with three men. Arthur Itis, Ben Gay and Johnny Walker.
Ironically as you slow down time itself moves faster. My seven-day clock seems to require winding three times a week. This phenomenon was best expressed by my idol Judith Viorst who wrote: “Go to sleep on Friday and the next thing I know it’s the middle of the week. And I am shaking mothballs out of winter clothes I stored for the summer five minutes ago.” And there was the observation of my ninety- five year old neighbor who alleged, “Seems like every other week it’s New Year’s Eve”.
It’s been reassuring that many of the humiliating indignities of old age can be judiciously managed. Pre-ordained conditions like poor hearing, incontinence and arthritis are daunting and demand to be approached with wit. Grandma O’Donohue claimed she went to bed every night with three men. Arthur Itis, Ben Gay and Johnny Walker.
Ironically as you slow down time itself moves faster. My seven-day clock seems to require winding three times a week. This phenomenon was best expressed by my idol Judith Viorst who wrote: “Go to sleep on Friday and the next thing I know it’s the middle of the week. And I am shaking mothballs out of winter clothes I stored for the summer five minutes ago.” And there was the observation of my ninety- five year old neighbor who alleged, “Seems like every other week it’s New Year’s Eve”.
Regrettably the old age counted on to make me more mellow has not worked out. In fact it has further diminished my chronically weak resolve to set a good example. I blurt out truths because whatever filter used to keep me politically correct has degraded. Opinions best kept to myself are now shared with anyone within earshot. Discretion has evaporated altogether and worst of all, I blab ceaselessly about the most confidential information. My grandchildren tease that I have one foot in the grave and the other in my mouth.
I do find it demoralizing when my white hair gives others the impression that I am both hard of hearing and mentally defective. Strangers will talk to me loudly and slowly. Condescendingly. And if I say something the least bit unanticipated they invariably counter “Sit down dear and I’ll get you a drink of water.” I hear that a lot.
So much for the bad news. When you do hit the eighties the good news is YOU WON. In the lottery of life, you survived and have been awarded more time…time being so precious no one can buy it. How you spend it is the trick but begin starting every day with gratitude that you made it when so many more deserving people were cruelly short changed. You get to see your children and sometimes your grandchildren grow up. And you also get to watch your enemies bite the dust and don’t let anyone tell you that isn’t heartwarming.
I do find it demoralizing when my white hair gives others the impression that I am both hard of hearing and mentally defective. Strangers will talk to me loudly and slowly. Condescendingly. And if I say something the least bit unanticipated they invariably counter “Sit down dear and I’ll get you a drink of water.” I hear that a lot.
So much for the bad news. When you do hit the eighties the good news is YOU WON. In the lottery of life, you survived and have been awarded more time…time being so precious no one can buy it. How you spend it is the trick but begin starting every day with gratitude that you made it when so many more deserving people were cruelly short changed. You get to see your children and sometimes your grandchildren grow up. And you also get to watch your enemies bite the dust and don’t let anyone tell you that isn’t heartwarming.
It’s liberating that no one will expect much of you and you can throw away the alarm clock. There is time to visit your few remaining friends. Half the names in my address book…which I call The Cemetery… have already been crossed out. You’ll appreciate how Noel Coward felt when he claimed all he could expect of his friends was that they live through lunch.
If you fight age you will lose…no one gets out alive… so best accept and enjoy it day by day. While admitting that your future is limited and your body now doubles as a time bomb. Groucho Marks said it best. “Dying is the last thing I want to do”.
But you absolutely don’t have to adhere to all the archaic rules experts offer on how to approach “circling the drain”. Ironically one of the most famous lines on tackling the inevitable came from Dylan Thomas who wrote, “Do not go gentle into that good night. Old age should burn and rave at the close of day. Rage, rage against the dying of the light”. Then he died at 39 after boasting that he’d downed 18 straight whiskeys. A lot he knew!!
If you fight age you will lose…no one gets out alive… so best accept and enjoy it day by day. While admitting that your future is limited and your body now doubles as a time bomb. Groucho Marks said it best. “Dying is the last thing I want to do”.
But you absolutely don’t have to adhere to all the archaic rules experts offer on how to approach “circling the drain”. Ironically one of the most famous lines on tackling the inevitable came from Dylan Thomas who wrote, “Do not go gentle into that good night. Old age should burn and rave at the close of day. Rage, rage against the dying of the light”. Then he died at 39 after boasting that he’d downed 18 straight whiskeys. A lot he knew!!
ON MODERN MEDICINE:
I read recently that there’s more money being spent on breast implants and Viagra than on Alzheimer’s research, which probably means that before long, there should be a large older population with perky breasts and big erections and not a clue what to do with them.
ON PARENTING:
Sometimes I believe today’s fathers are a little too conscientious. I occasionally think my sons got more out of playing pick-up baseball games in the empty lot across the street than my grandsons get playing organized little league. But I love that my granddaughters are playing team sports and that every child is encouraged to maximize his or her strengths.
ON PROCREATION:
Men don’t need women to tend their nests and cook their meals (think cleaning services and Stouffer’s). And, the way cloning is headed, they won’t need them to bear their children either. Women used to rely on men for sex and heavy lifting, but now men are being threatened not only by Women’s Lib and Affirmative Action, but by artificial insemination and vibrators and luggage on wheels.
ON MULTI-TASKING:
Women are able to multi-task and are more detailed oriented. How else can you explain that a man is able to zero in on an asteroid one million light years off, but can’t locate the catsup in the refrigerator? He can differentiate between 300 species of earthworm, but can’t recognize his own cousins at the family picnic.
I read recently that there’s more money being spent on breast implants and Viagra than on Alzheimer’s research, which probably means that before long, there should be a large older population with perky breasts and big erections and not a clue what to do with them.
ON PARENTING:
Sometimes I believe today’s fathers are a little too conscientious. I occasionally think my sons got more out of playing pick-up baseball games in the empty lot across the street than my grandsons get playing organized little league. But I love that my granddaughters are playing team sports and that every child is encouraged to maximize his or her strengths.
ON PROCREATION:
Men don’t need women to tend their nests and cook their meals (think cleaning services and Stouffer’s). And, the way cloning is headed, they won’t need them to bear their children either. Women used to rely on men for sex and heavy lifting, but now men are being threatened not only by Women’s Lib and Affirmative Action, but by artificial insemination and vibrators and luggage on wheels.
ON MULTI-TASKING:
Women are able to multi-task and are more detailed oriented. How else can you explain that a man is able to zero in on an asteroid one million light years off, but can’t locate the catsup in the refrigerator? He can differentiate between 300 species of earthworm, but can’t recognize his own cousins at the family picnic.
