Aging gracefully?

By Anita Garner

I liked old people even before I became one. Younger friends say hush, you’re not old.  Well I’m certainly older than I was, and I’m not that upset about it anymore.

Becoming a grandmother (”Hammy” to our toddler, Caedan Ray) isn’t what made me realize I’m aging. It started when my last parent passed. That’s when I first heard a whisper about my own mortality, a reminder that I haven’t been able to ignore.  Every day I think or say to myself – better get moving.

Occasionally I forget, and when I wake up and parts of me don’t work as well as they used to, (knees, I’m talking to you) at first I’m ticked off, but by the end of the day, I ask myself, what did you expect? Things aren’t brand new anymore.

I learned nothing from my upbringing about aging gracefully. My mother’s only advice about the passing years was to encourage the use of more moisturizer so boys will like you. She considered all men boyfriends and in her teens she married a man who, through some combination of mercy and grace, turned into a grownup husband who behaved like her sweetheart all the days of their lives. Daddy raised his wife along with us kids, and she clung tenaciously to the role of teenager, even in the face of some gritty realities.

As a southern preacher, he didn’t consider old a condition that needed fixing.  He believed in keeping one’s old people at home alongside the halt and the lame and the merely odd. Most houses in my childhood had a back bedroom occupied by someone who fit at least one of those categories. Our California Gramma, the one we spent the most time with, smoked and drank and danced and cussed and sang and bet the horses ’til the end. There wasn’t any talk of age at her house either. And Paw Paw, the southern grandparent who lived into his 90’s, didn’t pass along that gene to his son, because Daddy left us way too soon.

If we’re lucky, we’ll all keep getting older. When I got my first mailer from AARP, I jumped right into their arms. It felt like a kind of freedom. That was probably the year I began telling people my real age, even before they asked. There I was coasting along in the vague category of “somewhere past her mid-forties” and as long as my grown daughter, Cathleen, maintained her looks (and she does) then nobody knew for sure how old I was. Then came that AARP card and full disclosure set in.

AARP will catch up with my buddy across the page soon enough. I’m a few years ahead of him and I’ll be waiting right here to vouch for all the services AARP has to offer, the interesting publications and the discounts. I’m seriously grateful for the research they do and their fights to help our aging population learn how to make all of this work out as well as it possibly can.

I asked my mother once, on a particularly significant birthday, did she feel any different? She said what we’ve all heard a million times, that she still felt 18 inside. I’ve had several significant birthdays of my own since I asked her that, and now I know what she meant. On the inside, it doesn’t feel much different. And she was also right about the moisturizer. Much more of it is required. I don’t know if the boys like me any better, but I’m certain that Avon does. 

Ó By Anita Garner

7 thoughts on “Aging gracefully?”

  1. Congratulations! I am proud of you. I won’t hear from AARP for at least another year, although my husband has started receiving their literature. Not yet a grandmother, I can still say that moisturizer is a daily part of my life. Looking forward to reading your stuff and seeing your play. This is my first blog posting. HUGS!

  2. So, is old a state of mind, a state of moisturizer, or an AARP eligibility? I’ve decided that I am officially “old” when phrases I’ve only ever heard coming out of what I considered to be “old people” were heard coming out of my OWN mouth. I also want to know who the hell the old guy is that has been recently installed in my bathroom mirror! It’s a relatively new mirror, too. Very upsetting.

    Love this project so far Duhneeda!

  3. i think our body is the vehicle of our souls…
    there are those who respect and appreciate an old classic ride,and those who feel a need to make a pit stop at the body shop, but whichever you may be,the essence of being is, to me, always be the driver behind the wheel…so im just gonna keep going ’till they pull me over…
    hammy,we love you down here and miss you always,
    proud of you,
    stay moisturized
    e.

  4. Hammy, we’re on our way.

    We’ve been enjoying our own company for quite awhile now. I think we need to share these goofball stories, fanciful reflections and wondrous epiphanies with others who have had exactly the same experiences, fears, thrills and wonders.

    After all, we’re not really unique, are we?

    I find that enormously comforting.

    Love, Bompah

  5. Hammy, hear! hear!

    In my late teens I worked in my Dad’s real estate office. Often I would spot, with dread, an ol’ fart about to enter the office for a visit with Dad. The dread was knowing that I would have to listen through a long afternoon as they complained about everything wrong in the world… politicians, young people today, etc. Now that ol’ fart is me.

    My mind still thinks it’s 18, except for that “experienced” part. Ignorance of youth was glorious… the saying “ignorance is bliss” has never been better appreciated. Now that our parents are gone, we have stepped in to the position of Seniors. Maintaining good health has become paramount as our bodies try to keep up with that age 18 brain.

    I love your blog. Thanks for sharing your views.

    Carole

  6. My mind still thinks I m 18 also, but I find myself following
    strollers and goo gooing at babies everywhere I find them.
    Between that fact and seeing my four-year-old granddaughter every day before and after day-care adventures, plus
    having to lather up with moisturizers morning and night,
    and seeing my AARP face looking at me in the mirror, I
    sometimes have to admit even to myself that I am at
    that enviable age of a medicare recipient. Love your blog!

    Pam

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