I’ve aged a year since this time 365 days ago. My niece called me a few days ago to congratulate this feat and in doing so, told me I’d been spared since, essentially, I’ve been spared; as in not yet dead. I have to agree with her. I amazed that my smart ass mouth and what I deem to be funny, coupled with the fact that I’m truly losing awareness of my boundaries, haven’t gotten me “unalived” yet.
But my life isn’t so different. Yeah, some not so great things have happened, but into everyone’s life a little rain must fall. Most people my age are gray and balding, wrinkled all to hell, skin that has the textile strength of an old, wadded up piece Saran wrap. The chins are many, the crepey skin matches the Saran wrap. We can no longer read with without thick optical aids: the true menace to ants everywhere. We have thickened toenails which need a demolition crew to be manicured, teeth look like shattered plywood (and they’re the same color, too). We have aches and pains, we’re slower, more unsteady, basic movements such entering and exiting a car can no longer be made without vocalizing. Ney, screaming….acruslly, it’s more like the plaintive well of a banshee/
LOUDLY
We’ve lost our parents, many friends, partners. Jobs have come and gone. Money has been lost & gained….then lost again. Flatulence is still funny, but more prevalent. Soooooooooooooo much more prevalent and it stems from the most innocuous things—-like water. Things smell different, they taste different. You find you no longer crave pizza or the #6 platter which includes every Mexican food ending in a vowel. For desert, you look away from the tiramisu or lava cake & as for the soothing berry flavored miracle worker, two tablets of Pepcid Complete.
Anyway, some friends & family took me to a lovely restaurant tonight. I cut into a fantastic red snapper in a garlic-wine-butter sauce and noticed…”it”. I’ve developed a slight shaking in my hands. The white coats at The Mayo Clinic call it age related essential tremor, a neurological condition, that causes involuntary and rhythmic shaking. It can affect almost any part of the body, but the trembling occurs most often in the hands, especially when doing simple tasks, such as drinking from a glass or attempting to cut into tonight’s off menu Chef’s special du noir. The other white coats at the Grey Poupon Institute say it’s perfectly normal for people of a certain age. I feel sandwiched between synapses of once what was & what will be from now.
I received some lovely gifts. Flowers arrangements with sterling roses (my favorites), a lovely gold frame, a cool pair of Jonathon Adler poodle salt & pepper shakers. I got calls & greetings galore, but one gift stood out.
At the end of the evening, my nephew offered to get my car and bring it closer. As some of you know, my sister Karol who was recently widowed is now staying with me until she can recalibrate her life’s compass. Her marriage created a distance between many family members, namely her own kids, specifically her son. She helped me slowly hobble down the wheelchair ramp with bags of leftovers and birthday gifts in hand. At the base of the landing my ankle & knee had had it. Both forced me to enter my car slowly. So slowly that I was able to recite each member of the 126th Ohio General Assembly 2006/2006 by the time I could close was the door. I caught a glimpse out of the passenger window, I saw my nephew helping his mother into the car. They hugged for a long time. I’m not sure let go first. I’m not sure what was said. That didn’t matter.
I held my hands up like a cheesy TV or Movie director, checking how a possible scene might play out through the lens. It was a lovely tableau vivant, a mother & child reunion. A promise of better days. Renewal. That one shot would go in the new gold picture frame.
We drove home in silence, her face smiling, eyes twinkling, something was restored tonight. We pulled into my garage & in as quickly as two middle aged women could, we ran into the house. Me: to take a certain beta blocker & blood pressure medicine by a certain hour. Her: to beat the best East German women’s time running to the nearest pissoir to void a bladder.
Without uttering a word, we went went to our respective corners of the house. We knew that we’ll do it all again in the morning. We’ll wake up, talk a bit, have a bagel, complain about the situation in Crimea, plan the day based on the swelling of my ankle, we’ll reminisce about the events of my birthday and how kinda cute Roger was, the older, tired-looking, overworked waiter from restaurant with his 2.2 chins, thick glasses, liver spots, a pot belly, a receding hairline, two large feet that looked like home to at least two bunions. And lastly, there was, a cluster of skin tags on his neck that looked remarkably like Cassiopeia in the night sky. Any able-bodied sailor wouldn’t need a sextant.
Neither would we. We’d laugh knowing we’ve navigated so many treacherous waters with much less.