By G. E.
Shuman
A few
evenings ago, somewhere around bedtime, I looked away from the tv and down the
recliner, at my feet, for some unknown reason.
“Hey, I
immediately said to Lorna. What the heck is wrong with my ankle?”
Lorna came
over and just said: “It’s swollen…” like I wasn’t aware of that. Yes, my right
ankle was very swollen, but just on one side, and that looked pretty freaky to
me. I’ve had swollen ankles before, but this was different. I didn’t think my
body was morphing into an alien or something, but I wasn’t sure it wasn’t
either. Actually, the swelling was just one more nagging sign that my body
ain’t what it used to be. And what it used to be wasn’t that great in the first
place.
Last spring,
I had a visit with my cardiologist, (Yes, I have a cardiologist) and he asked
me how I was feeling. I said I seemed to have a lot of aches and pains. Without
the tiniest bit of sympathy in his voice he replied: You’re getting older. We
all have aches and pains. Evidently, he wasn’t much interested in hearing my
detailed and growing list of nagging ailments, and I’m sure you aren’t either.
I had to
admit that my doctor was right. Over the years, and especially in recent ones,
things do change and have changed. The fact that my dear wife called me elderly
several months ago didn’t do much to help. I took a little comfort in the fact
that she’s three weeks older than I am. Ha Ha on her.
It seems
that my warranty is gone. That is my most recent conclusion about the matter. Just
as with an aging car, things eventually begin to wear out on a person and just
don’t work well anymore. I like tee shirt sayings and saw one recently that
said: “MADE IN THE 1950s. ALL ORIGINAL. SOME PARTS STILL IN WORKING ORDER.”
“Well, I
guess that’s me, I mumbled to myself. Some of my parts are still in working
order. People aren’t made of wine or cheese, you know, I mumbled on, even
though some of them might smell like they are. Humans don’t get better with
age.”
The things
people say to me, like Lorna calling me elderly, seem to really stick in my
memory. (At least, so far, I have a memory.) One thing was an admonition from
Lorna’s grandfather, many years ago. He told me: “Georgie old boy, when you’re
almost 93 ya ain’t 16 no more.” At least
he was talking about himself when he said that. These many years later, I can
say that when you’re almost 70 ya ain’t 16 no more, either.
Another
comment came months ago from the other end of the ‘age’ spectrum. It was from
my now seven-year-old granddaughter, and I guess I asked for it.
I had simply
inquired, as she and I were rocking on the front porch glider: “Will you still
come visit Grammy and me when you’re all grown up?”
Her
thoughtful reply, after looking to the sky a few seconds, was: “I’ll probably
visit Grammy, ‘cause you’ll be dead.”
Yes, I asked for that one.
I don’t want
to get old. I don’t want to BE old. I think that realizing what’s happening to
my body is what makes grumpy old men, grumpy old men, and it’s probably making
one out of me right now. I’ll likely
start yelling: “Get off the lawn!” any day now.
One thing
that is of some consolation to me is that this thing called aging happens to
all of us at the same rate. We all get to become ‘old’, or ‘elderly’, whatever
the definitions of those words are, in the same number of circles around the
sun.
I have a few
favorite poems. One is called “Desiderata.” If you’ve never read it, look it
up. It’s awesome, (as my grandkids would say.) One line of the poem states:
“Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of
youth.” I have always liked that but do
so even more lately.
On a less
lovely note, with a less lovely quote, I also remember the words of some
comedian I heard years ago. He said: “Life is like a roll of toilet paper. The
closer you get to the end, the faster it goes.”
And I guess that’s how it goes.
