Getting old… well, older, takes some getting used to. My brain has a tough time keeping up with the changes in my body and on my face. I think of myself as twenty-seven. Let’s just agree that I’m not. It’s often a shock when I climb the stairs or look in the mirror. And shock occurs frequently. I think it’s that short-term memory thing. And then, there are other signs:
- I used to wake up fresh looking. Now it takes a lot more time and lot more help to even approach fresh.
- Reading from an e-reader is preferable not because it’s green or cool or convenient, but because I can hold it without my hands cramping and increase the font at will.
- I used to kind of like my ankles. Now my calves just bend a little and turn into feet. Feet that are very different from the way they used to look, by the way.
- Any my neck. It used to be on the long side. Smooth. Maybe even graceful. Now it’s none of those things. Think ‘turkey’ and you have the right picture.
- My hands are now my mother’s hands. Strange that they should have changed so much. I mean… hands??? Really?
- The most common operation my friends used to have involved breast implants. These days it’s either hip or knee replacement. Not very sexy.
- I used to stay up all night and not miss a beat. Now my preference is for nine hours. I don’t get nine hours mind you, but anything less than six and I’m a pile of junk the next day.
- People who think they are old in their thirties and forties make me laugh. And then cry.
- Hot flashes. At the worst times. Waiting in the checkout lane at the grocery store and having a hot flash made me fully appreciate frozen vegetables.
A friend of mine is talking about plucking hairs from her chin. Puh-lease. I hope that before that ever happens to me I’m, well… blind and bitchy wouldn’t hurt. Another friend and I talked about the importance of finding joy every day. In something—anything. My friend said, “If I ever stop finding something wonderful every day, just stand me in front of a bus.” I have to agree. But there are good things too:
- I’m suddenly comfortable with myself. My value is my value and I don’t compare Peg to anyone else. Well, mostly.
- I find that I actually have my own ideas and they’re not always what other people think I should think about things. And I don’t care.
- My friendships have become even more precious. The connections I have with other people are among my finest treasures, and I horde them relentlessly.
- I like my gray hair. Seriously. I used to dye my hair and now I just don’t have the time. Plus, after years of applied color, I was curious. I think my gray hair kind of sparkles.
So, there are trade-offs. Would I go back to the real twenty-seven? Not on your life. I may be delusional and addled, but I truly believe the best is yet to come. Since we’re sitting around the cafe together, I’d love to know what you would add to either list. Or what you think you might add when you’re old… er, older.
Clik here to view.
About Peg Brantley
A Colorado native, Peg Brantley is a member of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers and Sisters In Crime. She and her husband make their home southeast of Denver, and have shared it with the occasional pair of mallard ducks and their babies, snapping turtles, peacocks, assorted other birds, foxes, a deer named Cedric and a bichon named McKenzie. Peg's newest novel, THE MISSINGS, is a police procedural.
- Web |
- Amazon Author |
- More Posts (9)