Skip to main content

Reflections on an olden eye

   I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how I got to be 51 years old when it feels like just yesterday I was blow drying my feathered hair, pulling on my painter’s pants and grabbing my backpack before I went off to a college class. It’s like I blinked and it was over. With that in mind, I think there may be a few common factors for those of us who are growing older, while our hearts are still at that kegger party from 30 years ago.
   You know you’re getting older when: You find saucers in the cabinet with dried food on them.
   You know you’re getting older when: Your husband helps you put on your socks.
   You know you’re getting older when: You no longer look forward to water slides.
   You know you’re getting older when: You get dizzy watching your grandchildren ride a merry-go-round.
   You know you’re getting older when: Your friend tells you she has named one of her varicose veins: Veinessa.
   You know you’re getting older when: You hope for an underactive thyroid diagnosis.
   You know you’re getting older when: Your well-constructed outfits could qualify as play clothes.
   You know you’re getting older when: You start to refer to the television programs you watch as “My shows.”
   You know you’re getting older when: Your children start asking you how your doctor’s appointment went.
   You know you’re getting older when: You start to think of applesauce as dessert.
   You know you’re getting older when: You wear your sandals three seasons because they’re the only shoes that feel good.
   You know you’re getting older when: Everyone else tells you the television is too loud.
   You know you’re getting older when: You have to grab onto the arms of the chair to push yourself out of it.
   You know you’re getting older when: You think a hot date is a walk to the library and a stop at the drugstore to pick up some rubbing alcohol.
   You know you’re getting older when: You start buying fig newtons and stop buying pantyhose.
   And you know you’re getting older when you think more and more about that old kegger party and less and less about what you’re going to wear tomorrow. 

   “I grow old … I grow old …I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.” ― T.S. Eliot


Connie Berry said…
have to shout out to debbie for her beloved varicose vein....or as i thought it was in elementary school...her "very close" vein.
Deb said…
She's NOT "beloved", she's reviled! I hate that Veinessa. And I still have feathered hair, it's just that it's now gray and wiry. Hot, huh?

Popular posts from this blog

I might need a price check

So my husband Chris works three days a week in America, and I’m trying not to take this personally.
He’s commuting Monday mornings on the 6:30 ferry over to Cape Cod, where he works at an upholstery shop in Hyannis, the Mattydale of Cape Cod, for all you Syracuse readers. I stay here and hold down the fort, cooking up a cocktail of frozen pizzas and mac n’ cheese weeknights for my poor Danny. Chris comes back late Thursday night, all giddy over toilet paper prices and quotes on cheaper rent.
No, no, no, and more no I say. I can’t possibly leave all this off-season quiet and high-priced laundry detergent. There’s no convincing me to leave no matter how many times Chris points out that there’s a Trader Joe’s “over there.”
I want to stay here until I miraculously win on one of those $5 scratchers and can buy my own house here. The difference being that I feel confident that I will someday scratch my way to freedom while Chris thinks we’d be smarter to look into a nice rental “over there.…

Getting well takes baby steps

So I’ve had what you could call a case of the pneumonia. It was not pleasant. And to top it off it happened in San Antonio, Texas. Like I wasn’t sweating before the fever.
I was there to see my niece Michelle, who by the way kept asking me, “Are you going to write about this?” which is funny because she’s a writer too. I naturally said, “Oh no, of course not.” And here we are.
Thinking back, the best part of that trip teeters between meeting my two great-nephews, Oliver and Isaac, and having a couple of beers with their Yaya, my sister, who I haven’t had beers with in decades. Like I said, it’s a toss-up. There’s also the fact that I got to spend time with my niece’s husband Alex. He’s a hardcore military guy. He teaches other military guys how to be military policemen. I’m not going to gamble on writing anything about him. He’s from Wisconsin though, which I like. And he likes to cook, which I also like.
I thought to myself before I ever left my nice cocoon of Martha’s Vineyard to tra…

Who's got the soap?

I’m wondering at what age I’m allowed to hire a personal care attendant, covered by insurance of course. I haven’t reached my toenails in two and half years and the other day in the shower I seriously considered whether or not it was worth it to soap up below the waist. It hurts when I go anywhere past my kneecaps.
I’m okay with gray hair; that’s been coming in since I was in my 30s and I could still reach my ankles. It’s the burgeoning mountain under my man-sized T-shirts, just below my sagging breasts, that really gets to me. I want to know when exactly I stopped looking like I was 20, because it feels like yesterday. I look in the mirror strictly from the shoulders up these days.
It’s not completely depressing. I know there are about a billion other women in the same boat I’m in. I love the women who wear whatever the hell they want. Doesn’t matter if they’ve got those top-heavy grandma arms or busted veins mapping their legs. I say go for it ladies. I’m gonna get there someday.…