Though I enjoy people of all ages, older people have long held a special place in my heart. Now, I’m an old person — a senior citizen. Most of the time, I like the title, and the adventure of this phase of life.
Here are some observations about aging:
Old People Jokes
I like well-timed self-effacing humor, and there are hundreds of “old people” jokes. They don’t offend me, as they’re no different from all the “dumb blonde” jokes I endured most of my life … until I became a gray fox.
I’m fascinated by …
Jowls, Wrinkles, and Thin Skin
I used to wonder why so many older women have bruises on their forearms, and hankies or Kleenex tucked daintily under their watches or sleeves. Thinning skin. That’s the answer. I bruise more easily now, and darned if my nose doesn’t run at the tickle of the slightest breeze. Still, I can’t bring myself to do the tucking the tissue thing. I keep it in a pocket.
Along with the title “senior citizen,” I’m sure I’ve earned the title “Dame.” I equate my blooming jowls with royalty — probably from watching too many years of “Masterpiece Theater.”
And wrinkles. They map the stories of life’s joys and sorrows. They don’t bother me, except occasionally at night. I swear I hear them crackling like Jolly Ranchers wrappers, forging new trails across my skin — a symphony celebrating old age.
Yet, there are priceless benefits …
How fortunate to live this long, to be granted time to make amends. My parenting skills would never qualify me for mother of the year, especially as I was a divorced mom during most of my daughters’ growing up. I can never replace time and opportunities lost, but I’m now able to be a better mom. It’s lovely to discover that adult children still need us, and to answer by “mothering” when they do.
And, there is plenty to laugh about …
Romance and Pleas for Mercy
I’ve always preferred older men. Now that I’m old, older men are borderline ancient. A recent article caught my attention. It was about dating younger men. Hmmm. Twenty words into the article, I burst out laughing. The author is 30 — THIRTY — and dispensing advice about dating younger men. Apparently, age is all about one’s perspective.
Besides ensuring that my daughters know my wishes about the big finale, I’ve also asked them to consider my vanity if I meet senility before I die. Please, no moo-moos and decorated sweatshirts for me. I loathe those shirts with prints of doggies and flowers and butterflies. Plain t-shirts it is, and no polyester pants. Jeans, please. Please!
And, if I end up needing adult diapers, make mine tie-dyed or denim, just for style. Please …