Age has come creeping up on me like a fox to the hen house. Not all that long ago—well, I guess it might have been a decade or two ago—my friend Marty said to me, “Growing old isn’t for sissies.” I scoffed at the time, but I’m not scoffing now: there is more snap, crackle, and pop in my bones than in a bowl of Rice Krispies!
This muscle hurts, that joint aches. Body parts creak: knees, hips, ankles, elbows, shoulders; can someone please bring me the Tin Man’s oil can? Arthritis blooms like a noxious weed in the night. Conversations with my circle of aging friends are bound to be exclusively about doctors, health care, surgeries, biopsies, sleep aids, cortisone shots, gummies, and a plethora of over-the-counter remedies. CBD are the new initials of choice. I know we stopped talking about politics a few years ago, but didn’t we use to discuss other subjects like the designated-hitter rule or the benefits of putting STP in one’s gas tank? These days, once my friends and I have exhausted the twin pillars of weather and ailments, it seems like there’s nothing more to say. The silence can be deafening. Literally!
Simple acts I once took for granted—tying my shoes, pulling up my socks, putting on a pair of pants, even walking up a flight of steps—now require practice or patience or both. These problems are compounded because in my mind, I’m not old; I’ve barely hit middle age. I’m still thirty-five or forty or maybe just fifty. But my body knows the sad truth of it. Ask it to hop out of bed in the morning and it laughs in my face. “Hop? Really? Are you kidding me? Why don’t you just sit here for another couple of minutes, old man, and we’ll see how things go from there.”
Now it seems to me there was one other aspect of growing old I wanted to discuss but I can’t for the life of me remember… oh, wait! I know what it was: memory! There are all kinds of vitamins or supplements that are touted to promote “healthy brains,” but I don’t remember which ones supposedly work. Moreover, while it may be true that memory loss is just one natural component of the aging process, it strikes me as ironic that while I can still recite all of my elementary school teachers’ names, I’m hard-pressed to remember where I left the car keys or why I just went into the kitchen.
Now where was I?
For all you statisticians out there, the official start of old age is 65. I looked in my rear view mirror for that year, but it’s long gone. Let’s just say that I’m well into my dotage, and while I might rue the truth of that cold, hard fact, what good would it do? Better to accept what is and aspire to adjectives like “spry” or “wise” than to go looking for pity or dressing up like one of the Katzenjammer Kids who finally got knocked out by Father Time in 2006 at the ripe old age of 109.
But don’t count me out just yet. Remember that wonderful song from “The Fantastics?” I still keep my dreams beside my pillow. Follow…follow…follow.
I’ll be right back.
Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives in Chestertown. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. Two collections of his essays (“Musing Right Along” and “I’ll Be Right Back”) are available on Amazon. Jamie’s website is www.musingjamie.com
Marian says
How true that misery loves company; I sighed and laughed and could have written your article, right down to the last ache and pain. My mind used to run my life but now my body is calling all the shots. We have gained wisdom through all our years and wisdom is now telling me that I create my own reality so accept what is and laugh and complain with the other baby-boomers who are living the same life.
lois Hamilton says
you got that on the button –
peter swinehart says
Jamie, you write of aging–with grace. Good job!
DANNA MURPHY MURDEN says
I know you write this in jest but I have always told older people if you don’t have aches and pains until you get older be grateful, very grateful! I grew up with a little boy who had Infantile Arthritis he screamed when his diaper was changed. When of the age to be out playing his mother would call me to come play with him
( other little boys were to rough), we played endless board games and ate endless peanut butter and banana sandwiches rolled out with a rolling pin then cut into little squares because he couldn’t open his mouth very wide. Fast forward I married a man who had Rheumatoid Arthritis since the age of 19. Both of these guys started with these illnesses when there wasn’t any medications for them. At 51 years of age my husband was finally but on a medication that worked and his words were “ I’ve got my life back”. So I like you look at 65 in the rear view mirror I count my blessings every day no matter the aches and pains. I still tell everyone if you don’t have aches and pains till you get old be grateful. Oh and as far as that constantly talking about it with your friends I do hope you jest there also. A few years ago we spent the weekend with a cousin of mine in Virginia just for a good get together and gab fest. Well we were flabbergasted the following Wednesday when we meet in the same office at Johns Hopkins Hospital going in for almost the same procedure. So as you can see we had way to much to talk about to talk about. So much that aches, pains and illnesses never even came up. I suggest you take two aspirin and go for a walk and enjoy our beautiful weather.
Deborah Wolfe says
Dear Jamie,
You are right on and one of many of us in the midst of our “Golden Years”……really? I had to laugh at the Rice Krispies ….grew up on those & Frosted Flakes not to mention all the other processed foods that probably helped produce the “ snap, crackle, pop” we feel now.
I am the eternal optimist, living by my brain age of 40 UNTIL my body says otherwise. Long live the baby boomers!