Loose Ends

Here it comes again…

Once a year, as regular as a holiday, I celebrate becoming another year…older. Of course, too many people remind me that it is better than the alternative. That is a given.

As the big day approaches, I am at once amazed that I am still intact and too aware that my parts aren't quite as trouble-free as they have been. Take my right knee, for example. Most of the time it is just there, doing what it is supposed to do and not attracting any attention. Then without notice, it will get cranky. About the time I am ready to take it seriously, it goes back to just being a knee.

I stood next to a young woman at the drugstore as we checked out the lipstick colors. I mentioned that the softer colors seemed to look better on me the older I get. She moved to another aisle. Obviously getting older is not on her agenda. I wanted to go over and tell her about my cranky knee.

My purchases were reminders of my age - hair coloring, a moisturizer for my eyes, a moisturizer for my hands and another for my heels. What happens if I get them mixed up?

Recently, I have been reflecting on the value of things I never paid attention to before. Simple pleasures like comfortable shoes and PhotoShop. No one will receive un-retouched photos of me anymore.

This year I am going to rev up my coping skills. A day of weeding in the yard results in two days of sore muscles and squeaky joints. So I will do warm-up exercises before I start and soak in the tub when I am finished. That, combined with applying bug repellent and SPF 80, finding my cushioned insoles for my gardening shoes, loading up the wagon with bottles of water, my gardening hat, a towel and three kinds of gloves will reduce my weeding time - and so the sore muscles and joints, too.

Part of the coping is rewarding myself for jobs well done - a day of weeding, then a day of shopping. My other half has been suggesting lesser rewards such as a glass of lemonade.

One of the tricks to aging without trauma is becoming more flexible about things. I take off my glasses for that last look in the mirror before I leave the house. I refuse to admit that I need more light to do the same tasks, so instead of increasing the wattage, I either do them on a sunny day, instead of in the evening, or quit doing them all together.

And no more cross-stitch for me. All of those little holes…I will just reflect in the glory of all of my half-finished masterpieces. Paper mache is the perfect craft for my age. One of my friends muttered something about going back to kindergarten.

Someone asked me if I envy younger women. I wouldn't mind their knees, but they can keep the 4-inch heels.