Category Archives: ageing

Consider yourself warned…..

too late

Consider yourself warned…..

  • Eating junk food as your daily entree turns your body to junk. How could it not?
  • Joking about not exercising won’t be comical when you’re 70 and your legs and core won’t get you up off that comfy sofa any longer. It will be funny to those watching, though.
  • Smoking will be the death of you, one way or the other. Yes, YOU. Did you like taking that last breath, the one that just went in without any effort at all? If you smoke–yes, YOU–those breaths are numbered. Start counting.
  • Arteries in all kinds of places in your body can–and will–harden to the point that other important things CAN’T, guys. Yes, that one! Why doctors don’t harp on this with their male patients escapes me. If young men knew this NOW, they might take better care of themselves, because we know what gets their attention, above all else, right??
  •  That gorgeous “bad boy” will be bad for you, girls. Be careful, very careful, who you choose.
  • The trite platitude “It’s never too late” is a lie. Some mistakes can never be corrected, some missed opportunities will never circle back around for a second look. Live intentionally, not by the default position of “what will be, will be.” It made for a great tune, but the lyrics simply made its creator a rich man, not necessarily a happy one.

To reflect on your life with regret is devastating. Consider yourself warned, today, before it IS too late!

 

 

 

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What will it be?

retirement_road

As I moved through the first day of my retirement, everyone kept asking me what I had done all day, as if my work day had to be supplanted with something. Right?

Our society is fueled by work. We learn a trade as young adults and then we practice that brand of work in order to earn the currency that is traded for it. That currency then is traded for our lives. Literally. We eat, we have a roof to sleep under, we clothe ourselves. So, we must then work some more to sustain the whole thing.

Is it any surprise to anyone, then, that we align our entire identity with the most visible talisman of our worth? The one that sustains and insures that the wheels stay on the track of our existence?

When we stop working, what happens to the whole system then? In the case of retirement (because there are people who intentionally jump ship earlier on purpose), we have traded all that currency as long as is necessary in our society, and hopefully have enough to sustain us throughout. Until we die.

Maybe that’s the rub. We realize that our end is breathing down our necks, a salivating beast that we cannot hope to outrun. Many people avoid retirement at all costs, fearing what lies on the other side of that alarm clock that jangles them awake at the crack of dawn.

Others fill it up with more work. We’ll see how I do.

“The harder you work, the harder it is to surrender.”
Vince Lombardi

 

 

 

Parts A, B, C, and D: It can’t be!

 There isn’t any funny way to say this. And I’m not really laughing too much myself right now.
I applied for Medicare the other day.
Oh, my……
How did this happen? I’m about 25 in my head, complete with fantasies of all kinds as well as a full work load and an active life.
I can remember (yes, I DO remember most things) when any discussion about people over about 45 resulted in an inner shudder, thinking about all those OLD folks, decripit and wizened gnomes who could hardly get from armchair to the potty much less from the gym to a country bar. (Fill in the blanks as to why I chose that comparison, which only extends my point.) To be 65 must be practically dead, for pete’s sake!
And now, here I am, a few months shy of that dreaded year myself.
Oh, my……
The application process wasn’t bad, once I opened all the envelopes that had been arriving in my mailbox for months now. First, I had to read long enough to get into the zone of bureaucratic lingo, you know the one where they use 25 words to say something that really only requires about 10, and includes enough acronyms to sink an alphabet? But once I was there, and knew the difference between Parts A, B, C, and D, I went onto the official website and registered in about 15 minutes. I do think they need some nursery rhyme-type jingle to aid in retaining it all, though. It works for little kids, and I’ve heard tell that senior citizens often revert to the behavior of children, so maybe it would help? Just a suggestion……
There isn’t any way possible I can be eligible for Medicare, though. There just isn’t. This is going to take some getting used to.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
  We’ve put more effort into helping folks reach old age than into helping them enjoy it. ~ Frank A. Clark

No one warns you…..

OK, what’s with the chicken skin? I’m serious.

Nobody warned me about this, just like they never warned me about the Independent Fives when my daughter was growing up. She was the sweetest two year old and never terrorized anyone at three, either. But a little prima donna emerged when she was five who simply didn’t need ME anymore, thank you very much, a blonde dynamo I didn’t recognize. Anyway, someone stores all this information in a virtual vault somewhere, and then snickers gleefully when we topple over into a chasm of some personal ignorance we didn’t even know existed.

One night I was reading in bed, holding the book up so my arms were subject to gravity a bit. And there it was: Chicken skin hanging from my forearms, striated and loose and pale, and just plain disgusting. I might as well have been holding a dead fowl over my head; you know how it looks when you take the wrap off before you put it in the oven for your Sunday dinner?

Nobody tells you these things.

I put my book down and the skin returned to its un-disgusting shape, smooth and….well, normal. If I raised my arms up again, there it was: Loose, flappy skin marked with long lines like someone had driven furrows into my arms with a knife or something. And the thing that is so maddening about this is that the rest of my arms are in better shape now than when I was twenty. OK, maybe thirty. I’m buff from hours of working with free weights in the gym, and the underarm flab is gone, so this stuff hanging from my arms isn’t due to being out of shape. That’s the scary part of the whole discovery. Does that mean that I’m stuck with arm poultry for the rest of my life?

If I allow myself to think about it long enough, I have to admit that I probably am. Stuck with it, I mean. I’m not a Hollywood star with unlimited funds to do whatever it would take to get rid of this drooping flesh. There must be a way…..although, we don’t really see those stars when THEY’RE laying in bed at night, so I’m not sure. Maybe I can hire some paparazzi to look into for us.

Just consider yourself warned. And lay on your stomach when you read at night.

“If we spent as much time feeling positive about getting older, as we do
trying to stay young, how much different our lives would be.”  
Rob Brown