The Balancing Act of Aging

I used to wonder when I was going to get old. I wasn’t sure when that particular experience was supposed to begin. Given the results of a questionnaire, “How old is old?” on one of my favorite blogs recently, I saw where many individuals have a wide spectrum of opinions about what constitutes the concept of "old."

Every respondent posted an age that was relative to their own. 50-years-olds said 65. Sixty-five-year olds said 70. 70-year-olds said 75.

I can remember when my mom (25 years older than I was) seemed old until I studied my grandmother who was 50.

“Old” seemed a long way away. Now it seems quite a bit closer.

My project now that I’m living through my 70^th year is to make as little fuss about it as possible. I’m not trying to hide my age, rather embrace it without calling attention by bemoaning it. Aches and pains do give me pause in my day or change my plans. I find I’m paying more attention to where I place my feet when I hike up or down a trail. I’m more conscious about what shoes I’m wearing for what task. I’m also getting sassier or saucier in my demeanor because I’m a little less interested in blending with the wallpaper” so to speak.

Every moment of every day seems to be more precious. I’ve decided to make each one a bit more fun if by no other means than laughing at myself and some of the seriousness I’ve held regarding me and life all these years.

Take my cookie baking project yesterday. All of a sudden I was to be visited by my two oldest grandchildren. I was thrilled and wondered, “What is a grandmother supposed to do?” My answer was, “bake cookies?” Neither of my grandmothers did any such thing, but, no matter, cookies it was. So I pulled what ingredients I had from my corner of the shelved pantry I share with my landlady and searched for a favorite recipe I used to bake regularly four years ago. Living in someone else’s home also demands I make do without my usual utensils and equipment, an adjustment that has caused me some confusion and frustration.

I spread out on the kitchen island and decided while I was there I might as well construct a soup for my dinner with vegetables I didn’t need to save. (They were wilting.)

A simple project turned into an extravaganza with the first pan of cookies being cooked without all their ingredients (soda and cinnamon). The second pan had everything in it and I timed it carefully. The third batch conflicted with chopping veggies and stayed too long in the oven. They were not burned exactly, just crispy. Then the beans boiled over because I had misjudged the amount of dried beans to water. Then the veggies burned on one side because I was stir-frying them so they didn’t boil away with the beans.

All I could do was shake my head at myself and laugh as one mistake after the other trailed after themselves like a train coming down a hill.

In the middle of the mess, I sat down for a cup of cool water and surveyed my disaster area. Still chuckling, I reminded myself I probably hadn’t needed to do a thing but hug these two teenagers very hard and listen to what they were doing in their lives. I had been the one trying to be more, to fit into some kind of role of my own creation.

Aging I think takes on a bit of that mental exercise. We come to a cross roads where our perceptions of who we are as an older person can be influenced by some set of social norms created by fiction or some one else’s wishful thinking. The young girls (ranging from five to eleven) next door decided to play-act grandmothers one day and walked over, each with some kind of walking assistance device, ( a walker, a cane, and four pronged metal cane) and they were dressed in flavors of black. I asked them how did they come up with their costumes, and they answered they got their ideas from programs on TV.

Because there are rare positive models in the media about aging, they and we pick up what there is. How many medications are there now being advertized by grey-haired men and women for chronic conditions? Skin creams and treatments for balding are offered at discounts. Secretly smiling elders are advertising pills for erectile dysfunction instead of dancing suggestively on a date. The old age prevention and treatment industry is getting as prolific as the dieting corporation’s spiels.

I’ve decided not to fight “old” but applaud it. It is the next stage of life. After all, the day we really began the aging process was the day after we were born.