I’m finally saying “yes” to senior citizen discounts.
What the hey, I’m 62!
Ross Dress for Less gives me a sc discount when I buy stuff on Tuesday’s.
I got a sc discount when I bought my Amtrak ticket the other day.
I think it’s kind of cool.
I’m a senior citizen!
Who’d a thunk it?
Are you a good typist?
I’m not.
I’m an index-finger typist who wears bifocals.
I sit in my easy chair, tapping away with my pointer fingers, peering through the lower portion of my frames, sometimes taking my glasses off, or moving my laptop back and forth, closer then further away, trying to decipher what I’ve just typed.
Tonight I responded to an online friend on Google+ (the amazing Cloudia C. from Comfort Spiral), “how are you dong?”
Of course, I meant to respond, “how are you doing?”
Hilarious only to me, as I ponder this path that I’m currently on, this amazing journey of aging. A few weeks ago, my granddaughter V. asked me if I was going to every get rid of the gray in my hair. Nope, I told her, I won these gray hairs fair and square, just by living my life. They’re mine and I’m not going to bleach them away.
V. looked at me, shook her head, laughed, and gave me a big hug.
That’s another thing about aging, by the way. The insatiable desire to go off on tangents when you’re trying to make a point.
What was my point?
Right.
So, after tonight, I’m no longer going to look for typos when I blog, or IM, or tap out something on Facebook or Google+ (I’ve given up Twitter, hopefully forever, because I was just wasting too much time).
My typos are now called DONGS.
See?
Hilarious only to me.
Good night to you all, and remember to treat the elderly (like me) with kindness, ’cause you too will someday be old.
And good reading to you all.
I walked over to Target today to buy a new mop.
My old squeezer bit the dust a few months ago, and I’ve been mopping my bathroom and kitchen areas (not that large) on my hands and knees.
As I looked at mops (have you SEEN the prices of mops?), I got to thinking that when I moved into this apartment (about eighteen months ago), my knees and back were in bad shape and mopping on my hands and knees was NOT an option.
So I just said ‘no’ to a new mop.
And I came home and scrubbed my bathroom floor, on my hands and knees!
I’ve been thinking all day about the extra work of being healthy now that I’m older.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not feeling sorry for myself.
We’re all going to get older; it’s just my time to be older, that’s all.
But now, when I blow off exercise, or eat too much, my body starts to protest.
I get moody and tired, and my joints get really stiff.
So, at least for now, no mop for me.
Mopping on my hands and knees is part of my exercise routine.
GRANNY POWER!
Have a great week!
I first noticed the old man late last summer, as I waited for my bus.
He was bent over, relying on his cane heavily, taking baby steps.
Looking straight ahead, as he walked down the street.
Some days I saw him walking to his destination; other days he was coming back.
I’ve seen him almost every day since, except when there was snow in our neighborhood.
Monday morning, I got to my bus stop and looked across the street.
The old man was walking, erect, with his head held high.
And he was carrying his cane.
This old man has taught me a lot, about aging, self-respect, and about living each day to the fullest.
The photo above is not of the old man in my neighborhood; it’s just a picture I found on Google.
I ran into an ex-client yesterday while I was out getting my haircut and buying groceries.
We talked for a few minutes, then she remarked, “You look younger than you looked couple a years ago. Girl, you lookin like you gonna live forever.”
I muttered something in reply, because I don’t always know how to handle compliments.
But last night I got to thinking about what this person said to me, because I’m going to turn 60 (as in years old) this summer.
I’m handling this fact pretty well, although some nights I lay and bed and pray that when it’s my time to go I see a blinding flash of light and then just drop over dead.
Neuroses aside, death is something that comes for each one of us, and as aunt of mine told me years ago, “When it’s your time, there is nothing you can do about it.”
So I’m happy that I’m looking younger now; losing some weight, eating better and getting more exercise has helped me look younger, I’m thinking.
But do I want to live forever?
No way.
When it’s mine turn to return from whence I came (i.e., dust), hopefully I will let go gracefully and not make a deal with the devil or some other hopeless attempt to cheat the reaper.
But I’m really happy to be looking younger right now.
I’ll cheat the reaper a few years at a time, and feel healthy for a bit longer.
TTFN.
That’s what a maternal aunt used to call it, and now it’s what I call this ache in my bones.
I was diagnosed with arth-i-ri-tis in 2005, when my doctor looked at an x-ray of my knees and declared I had great knees for a 200 year-old woman.
Shite.
I felt sorry for myself for along time (about 13 months), then decided to just suck it up and take care of myself.
Shite happens, especially as we age.
To care properly for myself, I’ve learned three things:
–No matter what, keep moving, even through the pain. Foe me, the pain is worse when I don’t walk, climb stairs, and get adequate exercise.
–My heating pad is my friend when it’s cold and damp.
–I’m getting older, there’s no way out of it, so keep laughing. Crying does not help, and in fact makes this situation worse.
Right now, my heating pad is on and my back is whispering, thank you, thank you.
You are welcome, back.
We need to take care of each other.
So now this aging, arthritic woman is going to get up and walk around.
TTFN.
I was in a meeting today with my supervisor and a coworker.
My supervisor talked about finding joy in one’s work, and I started thinking about my newfound joy with life.
After a long stretch of tough times in my life, and one year of hard grieving, I’m finding joy in life once again.
Have I ever truly enjoyed life as I do now?
I don’t think so.
I think it’s the hard times that make or break us, you know what I mean?
Maybe you don’t, and it’s just the ramblings of a woman turning 59 years old in two days.
But I don’t think so; I think the hard times have toughened me, but also allowed me to see the good in my life, the good that’s yet to come.
My task, these days, is to open up the patio doors and let joy into my life every chance I get.
So, in two days, I will welcome 59 years of age. In four days, I will blow out a LOT of candles as my family surrounds me, my grandchildren clapping and squealing with delight.
As I surround myself with family, I will feel the presence of my mom and dad, far away yet still close by me every day.
I will rejoice, for I know that I am loved, and have been loved.
Turning 59 years old in two days.
Yeah.
Schwarzenegger and Shriver splitting up
B. Burcroff 