Let's Face It!

I was visiting a friend the other day and out of the clear blue sky she asked me if I would ever consider getting a face lift. At first I thought she was offering me a gift but alas, she was just curious.

When I was younger with nice firm skin and one chin, I always thought nipping and tucking was for the extremely vain but now that the lines and wrinkles are starting to make an appearance, I might, possibly, reconsider.

I wouldn’t go crazy. I wouldn’t want that constant look of surprise, the kind of look you have when a dog sticks his cold nose on your…well you know! Or so much tightness in your face that when you speak, your lips don’t move. Just a subtle eye lift would be nice, a little liposuction to the chin and a gentle lift to my cheeks. That’s the cheeks on my face, should anyone be confused!

From the neck down, I have come to the conclusion that gravity is cruel. Exercise and diet are of great benefit but somehow it doesn’t totally deter certain body parts from going south. But at my age, I don't think I'll be getting any requests to pose for the Swimsuit Edition anyway.

I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to look in the mirror and see a whole ‘new’ face. I’ve grown kind of accustomed to the one I have, like old sweatpants…not that beautiful but very comfy, and seeing a flawless face looking back at me would seem very strange.

I wonder if your personality changes after the scalpel drops a few years. Do you get delusions of being a hot young chick? Do you start looking at younger men? Oh wait! you don’t need plastic surgery to do that!

Well, given the cost to become more youthful, I guess that I’ll have to be satisfied with what I have been given. Besides, I’ve earned every one of these lines and wear them proudly as a survivor of life!

Please Don't Remind Me

Yesterday I got a birthday card from my sister-in-law, in large print she had written, '#62!'

Thanks a million for the reminder! I also got a card from my son; he made no mention of age in the card but did bring it up several times when I called to thank him.

A good friend emailed me to say hello and wanted to let me know the she couldn’t BELIEVE that I was going to be 62!

Another friend emailed me this joke about three old ladies having a chat and added that this would be me soon:

One said, "Sometimes I catch myself with a jar of mayonnaise in my hand in front of the refrigerator and can't remember whether I need to put it away or start making a sandwich."
The second lady chimed in, "Yes, sometimes I find myself on the landing of the stairs and can't remember whether I am on my way up or on my way down."
The third one responded, "Well, I'm glad I don't have that problem, knock on wood." She wrapped her knuckles on the table, and then told them, "That must be the door, I'll get it!"

Today’s mail brought me a solicitation for a cemetery plot. Buy now, save later…good grief!

What is it with you people? I never thought of 62 as old but now I’m almost afraid to buy green bananas!

My husband says that friends and family tease me because they know it ‘pushes my buttons’ and suggested that the next time someone says something about my age I should just whack them with my cane!

I think I’ll just mow them down with my walker!

Coming Full Circle

The other day, my husband and I were sharing childhood stories and we discovered that we were both children of the dreaded 'Sunday Afternoon Drive'. When we were youngsters back in the late 50’s, early 60’s, back in the old days when gas was less than thirty cents a gallon, piling the kids into the family car and going for a Sunday ride was a popular pastime.

My husband is the eldest of five boys, so his experiences were quite different than mine…the only child! He and his brothers would climb into the back seat of their parent's old Buick, his Dad driving, his Mom in the passenger seat. All would be good until one of the ‘boys’ started something then pretty soon his Dad would be reaching blindly over the front seat, landing a slap on any of the ten unruly legs behind him, and if that didn’t work, his Mom put ‘Plan B’ into action. Just picture five little boys, dressed in their Sunday best, all together in the back seat…sitting on their hands!

My Dad’s first car was a 1949 Plymouth, he had never owned a car until we came to America and it was his pride and joy. He washed it, he waxed it and polished it to a shine worthy of new Rolls Royce. For Dad the Sunday drive was an adventure; he was the pilot, Mom the backseat driver co-pilot. I, alone in the backseat, was the navigator. As you can see, Dad wasn’t quite ready to give up all of the Air Force life, so sometimes the conversation went like this…

Dad: Pilot to Navigator.
Me: Navigator here.
Dad: What’s the coordinates for the ice cream store?
Mom: I hope you’re watching where you’re going while you two are acting silly!
Me: Navigator to pilot.
Dad: Carry on Navigator.
Me: The ice cream store is dead ahead, 12 o’clock high.
Mom: Look out for that car pulling out!
Dad: I see it.
Mom: There’s a boy on a bike up there too, be careful!
Dad: I see him.
Me: Dad, I mean Pilot…you just went past the ice cream store!

As I slipped into my teenage years, I started to outgrow the Sunday drive ritual. It seemed suited more for young children or older folk.

Now, 50 years later, it’s a hot Sunday afternoon in August; my husband and I are reminiscing again as we head down the road; he’s driving, I’m the co-pilot, and our dog, Lucy is in the back seat navigating the way to the ice cream store.

Me: (Laughing) Honey, watch out for that pothole!

Hubs: I see it!

Birthday Blahs

Well it’s that time of year again…a couple of weeks before my birthday, and I’m starting to get into my annual ‘weird funk’. I joke that when I turned 30 I was traumatized but I’m not so sure it is a joke! The problem is the more years we put behind us, the less there are ahead.

No, I’m not being pessimistic…I’m being realistic. Let’s face it 62 is not middle-aged, how many people do you know that live to be 124? Neither is 62 old, especially given that 60 is the new 40, however, try selling that logic when you are job hunting!

On a recent interview, the thirty-ish interviewer asked, “What do you want to be doing in twenty years?” Knowing he had already determined that I was waaaay too old for the position, I decided to be totally honest, so I smiled and said, “Breathing.”

I really do hate this yearly ‘mind melt down’ and every year I tell myself that is the last time…but here I am again, going through the same foolishness! Does this happen to anyone else or am I alone in my annual agony?

Maybe it’s the conflict of mental age versus physical age. Young mind, not so young body. Maybe it’s because there are still a few things left on my ‘Ten Things To See Before I Die’ list. Maybe it’s the thought of being one step closer to the dreaded pasture.

Well regardless, that additional year is creeping up fast, so I guess I will accept it and be grateful, and I am truly grateful. Besides, a couple of days after my birthday, I’ll be back to my old self, whoops!...did I say old? Anyway, everything will be fine…until September rolls around, and the realization that my son is turning 41 sinks in! I think I’m going to ask him to call me ‘Sis’!

Raining On My Parade

The other morning as I woke up, a strange bright light edged it’s way around the window shade…it was the sun and it was actually rising without a drop of rain in sight. I yawned, I stretched, I was ready to face the day.

After making the bed and taking a fast shower, I sat down with a quick cup of tea and checked my ‘to do’ list. All my errands were in the local area…all except one. My friend Anne was celebrating a birthday in a few days and her present had to be mailed no later than the next day. I had a pretty good idea of what I was getting her but it meant that I had to drive quite a few miles to a specialty store. The price you pay for living ‘out in the boonies’ as my son would say.

Well it was a lovely day, a good day for a ride, and my dog Lucy knew it too as she danced around my legs practically causing me to fall on my face! So after a couple of chores around the house, we headed for civilization!

Driving down the mountain, in the glorious sunshine, I couldn’t help myself and I started singing ‘Oh What a Beautiful Morning’. I glanced at Lucy…and if I didn’t know better; I swear she was trying to stick her paws in her ears!

Traffic was moving along and we made it to the store in good time and as I turned the corner a parking spot opened up practically outside the door. What a great day this was!

I entered the store and was warmly welcomed by the sales clerk, and with a smile she informed me that they were having a one day, 20% off everything sale…and it was today! My timing is never this good!

Wandering the aisles, I was enjoying the music playing in the background…Fats Domino was singing ‘Blueberry Hill’, and I sang along, in my head. I love ‘oldies’, maybe because I know the lyrics to most of the songs.

As I set my friend’s gift on the counter, The Platters sang, ‘Only You’.

“Is that a radio station or a CD?” I asked.
“It’s a CD, we sell them here, they’re over there on the shelf, and they are 20% off today!” she said without taking a breath. Then she added, “My Grandmother likes all that ancient music too.”
“It’s not ancient, it’s classic oldies.” I smiled, defending Bobby Vinton singing ‘Blue Velvet’.
“Whatever,” she responded, with a little snippiness in her voice.

She rang up my purchase, put the receipt in the bag, and announced, “You can’t have the Senior Citizen discount with the 20% off.”

Her remark took me off guard; I didn’t expect a Senior discount having already read the sign on the counter stating; ‘Over 70? Ask about our Senior Citizen Discount’.

I left the store feeling somewhat dejected, I know I don’t look 70, several of my friends, will tell you I don’t look 60! It was such a lovely day when I woke up, and within a couple of hours… I became a grandmotherly senior citizen rocking to ancient music!

The way my day had turned, I totally expected it to start raining at any moment!

Paper Or Plastic?

The other day I needed a few groceries, and because we live quite a few miles from the big grocery chains, I decided just to visit a nearby convenience store. I grabbed a small cart and gathered up what I needed, and once finished, proceeded to the checkout.

I took my loaf of bread, half gallon of milk, a dozen eggs, two cans of cat food, two cans of soup, a package of cream cheese and box of dog biscuits and placed them on the counter.

The young man, who seemed quite put out that I had interrupted his cell phone conversation, scanned the items, and then asked, “Would you like a bag?”

Was he serious? He seemed serious. He was serious!

No, I'll just put them in my purse, I thought as I smiled and said, "Yes, please."

“You want it all in one?” he asked.
”I think it would be better in two, paper if you have it.”
“I’ll have to ring that up separate.”
“Ring what separate?”
“The paper.”
“You charge for paper bags?” I asked, as he stuffed everything into plastic.
“The newspaper is fifty cents.”
“I don’t want a paper; I thought you were talking about charging for paper bags.”
“Oh, paper bags are free.”

At home, as I removed my flattened loaf of bread from beneath the milk and dog biscuits, three thoughts crossed my mind, either I don’t speak clearly, I’m losing my hearing or I’m really getting old because I don’t ever remember buying a few groceries being that complicated before!

Splitting Hairs

The other day I got a call from my good friend Viv who’s a few years younger than me and just a trifle vain. By the sound of her voice I was prepared to hear that something pretty terrible had happened. In fact, I thought she was about to hyperventilate!

“What’s wrong, I’m having a hard time understanding you…calm down okay?”
“Okay, I’m sorry; it’s just that I’m so upset I can hardly think!”
“What happened? Is Frank okay?”
“Yes, yes, we’re all okay, well sort of, I mean I’m not okay, well I’m not sick, I’m just upset!”
“Take a deep breath, why are you upset?”
“I was brushing my teeth, and the sun was shining off the mirror and…and that’s when I saw them.”
“Saw who?”
“At least six, maybe more…gray hairs! Can you imagine me with gray hair, Oh My God; I’m not ready to look like an old lady!”
“Viv? Are you saying you think I look like an old lady?”

You could cut the silence with a knife.

“No, Sunny you don’t look like an old lady, you look great with gray hair, it’s just not great on me.”
“Don’t you think you’re over reacting just a bit, it’s not like you turned white overnight!”
“It’s almost that bad, Frank’s going to be shocked.”
“Frank’s got a lot of gray, so why would he be shocked?”
“Because I’m his wife, I’m not supposed to be old!”
“I sure wish you’d stop equating gray hair with being old, and I doubt that Frank is going to be shocked over a few hairs.”
“They’re not just hairs…GRAY hairs!”

I really didn’t believe that I was having this conversation, with an intelligent, 54 year old woman over six maybe more gray hairs.

“Viv, I know you’re upset but I’m running late for an appointment, can I call you later. Everything is going to be fine.”
“I’ll let you go, talk to you later but everything is not going to be fine, probably ever again!”

I felt really badly for my friend as I hung up the phone but I knew she would calm down and see how silly this whole conversation had been and later when we talked again, we would laugh about it. Well at least I hoped we would!

Right after dinner, the phone rang, I picked up the receiver and before I could say a word; Viv announced in a very proud voice,

“I have solved the problem!”
“That’s great, did you color your hair?”
“No never! I simply plucked them, they’re gone, I’m happy and feel young again!”
“That’s great, I’m so happy that you’re feeling better.”
“Me too, I just wanted to let you know, talk soon. Bye.”

I think the world of my friend but I still couldn’t help think that in her own way she was saying that I was old, and that kind of hurt. Hmm…I wonder if I should tell her that my Grandmother always said that for every gray hair you pull out, you get seven back!

Where Are My Glasses?

Several years ago I discovered that my arms were no longer long enough to comfortably hold reading material in a range that I could actually see the words. Not really an earth shattering revelation, just another gentle reminder that I’m not getting any younger!

Is it just me or does anyone else have ‘good reading glasses’, you know the prescription pair you carry in your purse for work or to make sure that the price tag said 30 dollars and not 80?

Digging them out of my bag, however, every time I needed to read something at home became a pain, so I invested in a few pairs of those inexpensive, drug store readers and strategically put them around the house. A pair in the kitchen, another in the den, the bedroom and for those quiet reading times…the bathroom.

This worked like a dream, for about two days! Until I got into the habit of setting the glasses down in whatever room I happened to be in, so my kitchen glasses ended up in the bedroom, den glasses in the bathroom and so on and so forth until they just all vanished completely!

Well I still have my good glasses safely in my purse, and one new pair of cheapies that I’m so afraid of misplacing, I move them from room to room.

Then, the other night, when I finally had a chance to sit down and read the newspaper…you guessed it…no glasses! Discreetly I searched, trying to avoid the inevitable ‘elderly jokes’ from my beloved, until finally, I just gave up and attempted to read glass-less.

I should have known better!

"Lose your glasses again?"

"No, I just misplaced them...again."

"When's the last time you saw them?"

"I had them earlier in the kitchen when I was reading a recipe."

"Are you offering a reward for their return?"

"No."

"That's too bad."

"Why? Do you know where they are?"

"I may."

"You know I'd really like to read this article before I'm too old to care, so could you give me a hint?"

"Why don't you look in the mirror."

I really hate when this happens.

"That won't be necessary," I said removing my glasses from the top of my head, "And don't say another word!"

Never Too Old

Over the past few years, I have really enjoyed teaching ‘well seasoned’ citizens (I don’t like the term senior citizens), basic computer skills. I have taught classes at our local Council on Aging and also in home lessons on the person’s own computer. The following is a phone conversation that took place a few months ago…names have been changed!

Phone rings.

Me: Hello.

Caller: Hello, I’m looking for the lady that gives calculator lessons.

Me: Do you mean computer lessons?

Caller: Probably.

Me: If you're looking for computer lessons, this is Sunny, the lady you want to speak with.

Caller: My name is Bill, I got your name from the COA, they said that you are the calculator guru.

Me: (Laughing) I'm hardly a guru but I'd be happy to help you.

Bill: My son bought me this contraption because he knows I like to research stories and he said that I can do a lot of that with a calculator. I don’t know one thing about it. I could be hopeless you know.

Me: Nobody’s hopeless, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?

Bill: Fire away, you’re the expert.
Me: Have you ever used a computer before?

Bill: Nope, never had a reason to.

Me: Is it a laptop or a PC?

Bill: I hope you’re not going to use all kind of fancy names. What’s a PC?

Me: A PC is a personal computer and is made up of several parts, a laptop is all in one.

Bill: (After a long pause.) There are a couple of big boxes, does that help?

Me: The computer is still in the box?

Bill: Right in the middle of my living room.

Me: Do you know what make the computer is? It should say right on the box.

Bill: Hold on, I’ll go look.

Several minutes pass.

Bill: It says D-E-L-L, does that mean anything to you?

Me: Yes thank you, it’s a Dell computer.

Bill: My son told me I need to learn to Goggle (this is not a typo) and send Email.

Me: I can teach you how to do that.

Bill: (Laughs) It could be a lot harder than you think! You know what they say about old dogs!

Me: Do you have someone to set your computer up for you, or would you like me to put it together for you?

Bill: You do that too? You must be very smart.

Me: It's not as hard as you may think. Do you have an Internet Provider? Either cable or DSL?

Bill: Whoa!, there you go again with all those fancy words! Let me ask you a question, do you have children?

Me: I have a grown son.

Bill: Do you remember when he was a little boy learning something for the first time?

Me: Yes.

Bill: Well think of me as your second son!

Me: (Laughing) Okay, I’m sorry if I’m confusing you. Let me explain; in order to do research, or send email on the Internet, you have to be able to connect your computer to the Internet, the company that provides that service is called an Internet Provider. Around here, Comcast has high speed internet and Verizon has DSL.

Bill: This is a foreign language to me, I think my son should have saved his money!

Me: You'll do just fine but it’s a little difficult to go over all this on the phone, would you like me to stop by and see what you need to get up and running?

Bill: I think that’s a grand idea, this damn calculator is going to drive me cuckoo!

A couple of days later, I met with Bill, connected up his computer and scheduled him for some lessons. He was a wonderful student, a fast learner and within a few weeks he had learned to ‘Goggle’ on his calculator and send email to his grandchildren. He researched a ton of stuff that interested him and even sent me an email telling me that old dogs can learn new tricks. Bill is a real gentleman, determined, stubborn and quite a character.

Oh, did I mention that he was my oldest student at 94?

New Math

They say that 60 is the new 40, so working on that premise 40 would be the new 20 and so on. Does that mean I have to wait until I'm 95 to retire at 75?

Don't you agree that our generation at 60 is a lot younger than our parent's generation? I can remember my Mom turning 60 and it was like flipping a switch and she seemed to become much older. Suddenly she couldn't do certain things or wear certain fashions because she was the dreaded six-o! Honestly, I never could follow that logic, and my Mom never could really explain why she felt that way. I think it went back to the old 'act your age' way of thinking.

Sadly, my Mom passed away at the young age of 66, and even though she had health issues, I often wonder if her thoughts about age made a difference.

As Satchel Paige once asked, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?"