Aging

I'm not sure when I first realized that every movement hurt.  I'd wake up in the night to answer the call and felt like the Tin Man after a rainstorm.  I could almost hear the creaking when I crawled out of bed in the morning.  After sitting a spell in my office, unfolding from my chair caused intense discomfort to all my hinged parts.

How did this happen without me noticing?  I mean, my parents were OLD when they talked about arthritis and rheumatism and bursitis and other unsavory joys of aging.  I'm not old.  I'm barely over half a century.  Saying the word fifty gives me unpleasant pangs not unlike my protesting joints.  What happened to the last two decades?  I still think I'm thirty. . . barely. And then I realize we celebrated my son's thirtieth birthday not long ago.  The math just isn't adding up. 

I'm realizing I have choices.  I can protest the reality of my years and try vainly to appear younger - the result of which would most likely be the opposite.  When I see a woman whose facial creases scream seventy while her raven hair rivals Morticia's. . .well, youth is not what comes to mind.  Seeing grandma in hot pants no matter how slim her legs, fools no one except, maybe, grandma. 

Better that I embrace the fact that I've lived such a full life, so far, that the years have simply flown past in such rapid succession I barely noticed their passing.  I can enjoy middle age and the priviledges inherent therein. No more staying up all night with a colicky infant.  No more worries about where my toddlers are and who they are annoying.  No more waiting up for my teenagers, wondering if I will need bail money in the morning. No more digging for an ID card if I choose to buy a bottle of wine on a whim. Instead of resenting young adults when they call me "ma'am" I can hold my head up and pretend they are showing me respect.

So my muscles ache and my joints creak.  At least I still have so much to do I have a reason to move them.  Ibuprofen is readily available along with a plethora of herbs and vitamins guaranteeing unending longevity in a body bursting with vitality and health.  Indeed, according to the fantastic claims of the health gurus, it's a wonder anyone ever dies.  Not only will we live forever, with the fantastic colon cleanses and bowel activators one need never fear the inability to move, at least your bowels, in the event all else freezes up.

I'm actually at the perfect age.  Old enough I need not ask permission to do what I want and young enough to want to do it.  Old enough to know better and young enough to enjoy it anyway.  Old enough to realize how quickly time slips away and young enough to set new priorities.  Old enough to have countless great memories and young enough to make countless more.

I hope I'll have the wisdom to throw out the hair dye when it's time to embrace silver hair. I hope that rather than refuse assistance when I need it, I'll set a few trends with my stylin' canes and funky glasses.  I hope I never wear polyester pant suits and I hope I'll always be too busy to play shuffleboard.  I hope I never forget to live as long as I'm alive.

Happiness

Yesterday I read something that seems, in retrospect, so simple I can't believe it has never occurred to me before. A "not able to see the forest for the trees" kind of thing.  Happiness, it seems, is achieved in bits and pieces, seized by those alert to its availability as it flits by, invisible to the less observant.

A cluttered shelf that has bothered me for weeks, cleaned and put to rights is a moment of happiness.  A refrigerator spilling over with outdated sauces and furry leftovers, purged and polished, is another moment of happiness.  A warm chocolate chip cookie, savored with an ice-cold glass of milk and a five-minute break from a hectic day is yet another happy moment.  Well, you get the idea.  I know as soon as I read this concept that it could change my life if I put conscience effort into recognizing and enjoying the simple pleasures that inundate my life. 

So the guy in the black Audi who cut me off in traffic may be a jerk, or he may be just a guy having a very stressful day.  And now he's added stress to my day.  But I avoided hitting him so that's good, and the cup of coffee in my car's console is steaming and tastes great.  So I take a big swig and really taste it.  And smell it.  And realize how enjoyable that moment in time is.  Meanwhile the jerk is gone, careening through traffic far ahead.  And I've still got half a cup of coffee left to enjoy and twenty minutes of solitude before I reach my destination - the business supply superstore filled with other harried people, unaware of anything except the long list of obligations filling their day.  Another sip of coffee, another enjoyable sensation, another spurt of energy as the dark, hot liquid does its job.

I mull over this epiphany and watch for more joy along my path.  I see the flashing lights at the side of the road, ahead, in the distance.  Like all the traffic, I merge into the left lane to allow plenty of room, thankful the lights aren't lingering behind my car.  As I pass the trooper and the black Audi stopped in front of him, I realize yet another moment of happiness.