Getting older?

A truth none of us can escape is each day we get older, and sometimes each step along the way gets a little more painful.

One of my favorite websites is TIME GOES BY where it deals with problems facing us older folks. Today she writes about how businesses are pitching in, or not. The Wall Street Journal, and the New York Times are two sources and it is interesting. More so to me (age 73) than you of course, but interesting none the less. Take a look.

Column by Jane Gross of the New York Times
Foreword by jimkitt

This column by Jane Gross of the New York Times is fine as far as it goes, but it's a primer on political correctness among us geezers. Geezers is the term my wife and I use speaking of each other when we want to make a point relating to age and our position on the chronological ladder. Speaking only for me, I would only be offended by the use of age related words if I believed the speaker was inferring in using a certain word that I was befogged or incapable of understanding because of my age. A person who is aging is incapacitated mostly by physical limitations and not in the majority of cases by anything mental.

As we all know, or some of you will find out when your time comes, the mind seems to function well enough but sometimes I do wonder why it takes me so long to get up from a sitting position, or whose wrinkly hands am I looking at. But in fact we really do. We don't have to like it, but the majority of us really do know where we are on the mortality tables but would rather discuss the latest shenanigans of our politicians than dwell on a subject where the ending is so predictable unless there's an escape clause I haven't heard about.

Goodbye, Spry Codgers. So Long, Feisty Crones.

By Jane Gross

Comparable to racism and sexism, “ageism” refers to stereotyping and prejudice directed at individuals and groups because of their age. The term is believed to have been coined in 1969 by gerontologist Dr. Robert N. Butler, the founder of the International Longevity Center in New York City, which as recently as two years ago published a comprehensive report on the problem.

Now the center, along with Aging Services of California, has put together a stylebook to guide media professionals through the minefield of politically correct and politically incorrect ways of identifying and portraying the elderly.

Lesson one. “Elderly” is a word the two organizations would prefer we eliminate. Oops. We have used it here often.

But now we know better. In the glossary of the new stylebook, “Media Takes: On Aging,’’ the authors state their case against “elderly” as follows.

Use this word carefully and sparingly. The term is appropriate only in generic phrases that do not refer to specific individuals, such as concern for the elderly, a home for the elderly, etc. In other words, describing a person as elderly is bad form, although the generalized category “elderly” might not be offensive. (Suggested substitutions include “older adult” or simply “man’’ or “woman” with the age inserted, if relevant.)

Also to be avoided are “senior citizen” (we don’t refer to people under age 50 as “junior citizens,” the guide notes) and “golden years” (euphemisms are probably not the best way to go, we learn). “Feisty,” “spry,” “feeble,” “eccentric,” “senile” and “grandmotherly” are also unwelcome terms, patronizing and demeaning, as is calling someone “80 years young.”

The guide is ambivalent on use of the word “home” as a replacement for “skilled nursing facility.” On the one hand, it can be both anachronistic and condescending to harken back to “old folks’ homes,” which is one of the reasons Aging Services of California changed its name from the California Association of Homes and Services for the Aging. But elsewhere the guide notes (see paragraph four above) that “these facilities are indeed people’s homes,” often permanently. Thus, the people who live there should be called “residents” rather than “patients.”

The guide’s other “obviously ageist words and phrases to avoid” seem far less ambiguous. Among them are “biddy,” “codger,” “coot,” “crone,” “fogy,” “fossil,” “geezer,” “hag,” “old fart,” “old goat,” “prune,” “senile old fool” and “vegetable.” None of these — whew! — have appeared in The New Old Age. (Until now.)

Halfway to Old

Halfway to Old

“What’re yer numbers, honey?” he cackled at me.

“90/59.” I tell him.

“Oh, pisssssssssssssshhhhhhhh!” he spits back at me. “Ain’t nobody got a blood pressure that low unless they’re takin’ Lotrel. You takin’ Lotrel?”

“No. What’s Lotrel?”

“It’s my blood pressure meds. Got mine down 17 points on the top and 7 on the bottom. That and oatmeal. Oh, wait. The oatmeal was for my cholesterol. Or was it my diabetes? I get all my numbers mixed up.” He shakes his head at his failing memory. I see his wrinkled hand, discolored by sunspots and odd bruising, grip his cane. He slowly lifts himself from his chair and shuffles over to the counter to pick up his prescription. The leg on his elastic waist khaki pants bunches up. His diabetic socks are visible. His oversized acrylic sweater is covered in piles and gives me the impression that he is a widow.

I look around to find I am surrounded by older people waiting for their prescriptions from the pharmacy at the back of the grocery store. I am there because I am obsessed with my blood pressure. I check it at the do-it-yourself machine whenever I can. My aunt, who is a nurse, once told me that athletes can sometimes get their lower number into the low 50’s. I’ve always secretly wanted to achieve that. The people around me at the pharmacy are old. They check their blood pressure because their doctor told them to.

I catch snippets of conversation and it is apparent to me that most of those waiting have health issues. I am quietly smug. I feel young. Their deep wrinkles announce the many decades they’ve lived through. I will go for a run when I get home. They will struggle out of the store with their walkers. I have hard-to-eat corn on the cob in my cart. They have denture cleaner. I am smiling. They seem a tad crotchety.

With a subtle haughtiness only the truly ignorant can possess, I steer my cart down the frozen food aisle. There are three teenage boys repeating the word “dude” over and over quite loudly. Their oversized Rocawear jeans sit very low on their hips. Their plaid boxers are visible. Their Live Mechanics wildly printed hoodies give me the impression that they are highly irresponsible.

They can’t decide between pizza rolls or mini bagel pizzas. One of the boys accidentally knocks into my cart and his friends laugh. They are egging him on to “ask the lady”. Finally one of them turns to me and asks which product is better-the pizza rolls or the Bagel Bites.

“Well, the pizza rolls are higher in saturated fat and the Bagel Bites have a little more fiber. I’d go with the Bagel Bites.” I say with authority.

“Um……yeah. Thanks.” one of the boys mutters back. “We kinda just wanted to know which one tastes better.” They then grab a few boxes of the pizza rolls and take off. As they leave I hear one of the boys ask his friends. “What is it with old people and fiber?”

I am quietly offended. I feel old. I turn to leave and catch my reflection in the freezer doors. My stretch Levi’s are stretched a little too tight. My fat roll is visible over the waistband. My plain, mundane t-shirt gives the impression that I didn’t try very hard when I got dressed that morning. I look a bit dumpy. I look like someone’s tired mother.

I have to face the fact that the person staring back at me is no longer young. I’m nowhere near being old yet, but the aging process has begun. I don’t yet have the more serious health issues of the people at the pharmacy. However, my peers and I now speak about trans fats, carpal tunnel syndrome and which sleep aid medicine works the best. We buy anti-aging products, lite beer and reduced fat ice cream. I have friends with pre-diabetes, knee and back problems and high cholesterol levels. Some of us can’t make it through the night without getting up to pee. Crowns and root canals are common place. We like listening to the oldies radio stations. Most of us could lose a few pounds and tone up a bit. The times we do attempt to exercise we either can’t walk the next day because we’re so sore or we get some sort of weekend warrior “sports” related injury. We’re starting to fall apart. We’re starting to get old. I didn’t think it would happen so soon.

With a subtle humbleness only the aged can possess, I leave my wrinkled reflection and head to the checkout at the front of the grocery store. Waiting in line I find myself passing over the headlines on Cosmopolitan and Glamour and focusing on the covers of Good Housekeeping and Newsweek. The elderly gentleman from the pharmacy is in line in front of me. He turns to speak to me. He motions with his hands toward the teenage boys one line over who are paying for their pizza rolls and Red Bull energy drinks. “For the life of me, I’ll never understand why they don’t pull their pants up.”

I completely agree with the old man. “What is up with young kids these days?” I ask him. And with that question, I officially arrive at the inevitable age of being somewhere between young and old.

Read more from the author here.

OPEN LETTER received after she read my thoughts on the new book DEAF SENTENCE. I post it with her permission.

Good Morning,

Know that you all are in the middle of a major storm so whatever stay safe and warm.

I will be anxious to read "Deaf Sentence" as I to am coming to the realization that I am becoming more profoundly deaf all the time in spite of my hearing devices. I also realize that I miss a lot of things simply because I don't hear well and instead of bringing attention to it I just smile and engaged in some thing else that takes me out of an uncomfortable situation. Funny, no one in spite of rather intense medical scrutiny over this past year has ever given me a medical reason. I saw an ENT specialist a few years ago, who talked about everything else, but my deafness. That is because there is no clinical reason for it. It is just a product of genes and (the dirty word) AGE!!!! I know that being in my own world where I don't have to hear has become more and more comfortable for me. In that environment I am in charge and can hear my own thoughts loud and clear.

I know that my deafness is quite noticeable by other people and here I thought I was fooling people. The gig is up - I have a rather severe hearing problem and it does disadvantage me and I waste vast amounts of energy trying to compensate and pretend I hear when I don't. Then I have to scramble to make sure I haven't missed something important.

I watched my mother as hearing rapidly began declining and being totally deaf at the end. How much she had missed just because she couldn't hear and would not admit to it. We got her special ear phones for her to watch TV with, but she wouldn't wear them because they messed up her hair. I think it was because she couldn't hear any better with them.

Asking people to repeat things is annoying and even I become impatient with my husband who is also losing his hearing and compensates as I do and pretends he hears when he doesn't. We miss so much.

Okay enough whining, I am grateful for my life and the many blessings I have. So one more adjustment in this journey called aging. I AM VERY HARD OF HEARING SO BEAR WITH ME, IT IS PROBABLY GOING TO GET WORSE.

I am alive, well, blessed, warm, well fed, etc. and tell myself - "JUST GET ON WITH IT". Thank you God for everything.

Love to all

I'm getting older and I know you can't hide from it, but I ran across this article from Foreign Policy magazine. Don't know what it has to do with foreign policy, but anyway it's called: The List: Ways We Will Die in 20 Years. I really prefer the head in the sand method of facing the inevitable, but curiosity sometimes gets the best of me and I kind of turn the page just a little so I can peek in (on the computer, of course we have to just pretend a little). Take a look it's not graphic or even very alarming.

Since I have this morbid streak going on in my brain for the moment, I might as well finish up with this review of a book I was checking on in the library. It is a book written by Julian Barnes who it turns out is totally spaced out worrying about dying. It's titled NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF. It's kind of a strange title since he is so obviously petrified of the whole notion. Here is the review.

From Brewster Rockit comes an affliction for the aging, forgetfulness. That forgetfulness that occurs when you are having a conversation and the name of a person, place, or thing will not come front and center when you need it. It is maddening to say the least and not a real good asset for any conversation. I can't tell you how many times while conversing, the name of a person, place, or thing will not come forth when bidden. Older people will know exactly what I am talking about. It's that greatest of all conversation busters, "Oh I'll remember it in just a minute."

Knowing that millions of other people, including Brewster Rockit, (short attention span is not exactly the same, but you get the idea) have the affliction does not make me feel any better.

I read an article this morning in the Times that stated that drinking copious amounts of red wine could extend your life. Seriously, they are and have been conducting studies that they believe will do that. The article goes into the subject in more depth and is fascinating to read and conjure upon. It adds that the 'magic pill' would also slow or end cancer and alzheimer's and they are deadly serious about it. I don't wish to make a comic routine out of the article, but it's too late for me if it came out on the market today and you have to admit it sounds like the mad scientists is at work in his laboratory somewhere in Romania. Comedy aside, it is serious enough for Glaxosmithkline to be offering up millions of dollars for the 'formula'.
Read the article here

Somewhat seriously though what if this would pan out? Life changes would follow for all the world. Except maybe for my crowd, the retirees of the world. First it would extend our expectations of how long we would be around and the delights and problems it would cause. It's my nickle so I would say it will add forty years to our lifespan. I'm not sure my neighborhood will be safe to live in forty years from now, so moving might be in the cards. Where would I want to spend my newly expanded life? I like where I'm at, but if someone is waving a collect $200, get out jail card at me I guess I would have to think about it.

Another thing, I might want to go back to work, oh my God, what am I saying. But it's true. I love my wife completely, but she would probably have a slight change of thought and be thinking it might be a good idea for me to get out of the house and give her a little privacy now and then, matter of fact, she might want to go back to work also.

If I went back to work, I would not want to work where I did, but I'm probably not trained to do what I really want to do, so I might have to go back to school. Actually millions of us would have to go back to school to bring us up to date on the technology needed to get by in the everyday workplace. Oh jeeze this might get more complicated.

I can see some businesses that might be in for a little lean spell. The funeral business I would think would have a forty year depression until we have used up our forty year gift of new life and started to wear out and succumb to some disease that hasn't yet reared it's ugly head. The government might have to cross train funeral directors in the interim as philosophers or guidance counselors.

I could go on and on, but it brings up a more serious aspect of the life extension. Would we use it for ill or good? My snap judgement is the former, but everyday brings something new, so we hope for good things.

Wake up this morning old timers and read this, it will make your day, maybe your whole month. From today's New York Times

When you retire you won't see this person looking back at you from the mirror. Everyday is Saturday and seventy degrees.

One of the many great things about being retired is you don't have to wait until lunch time to start snacking. One of the bad things about being retired is you don't have to wait until lunch time to start snacking.

Did I make my point?

That's me in the blue shirt. I cannot resist King Dons or Pinwheels, and when they still manufactured them, Mallomars.

I found this posted on Ivan Shreve's blog http://www.thrillingdaysofyesteryear.blogspot.com/

and could really relate to Aunt (I have forgotten her name) in the Nancy comic strip. One or two of you out there may have run into the 'I forget' action as we start aging. It isn't funny, but the strip is.

Brains and Aging.

I read this article about my shrinking brain. It repeats the old saying, "use it or lose it". This time they're talking about us older folks.

I hope their recommendation on holding off this dire happening is true. They're saying we should with some diligence I presume start, if you're not already doing it, working crosswords and other brain teasing games. They help it says.

Also exercise of the more athletic kind is recommended. Our brains really do shrink and if I read it right, keeping it busy will hold off the onset of Alzheimer's by as much as five years, if it's in fact in the cards that we are going to be struck with it.

Crosswords I have been doing for years, but I've been doing it just for the fun of it. I wonder if it will lessen the fun now that I know I am doing it in part because it's a doctors recommendation? Nah, I'm not stupid, at least not yet.

Read the article: http://health.usnews.com/articles/health/brain-and-behavior/2008/01/31/keeping-your-brain-fit_print.htm

NURSING HOMES?

I just wanted to post this one more time. Us older folks, just as younger people center our thoughts on issues which do or might happen to us. Well if you read what I am saying below, then carry it on to the next conclusion, it means that 94 percent of us will never set foot in a nursing home, rest home, whatever you want to call it, and I think that is the best way to think about it. Think about it, then forget it, you and I are probably part of the 94 percent.

**************************************************************************

As we age, you and I, one of the things uppermost on our minds is the likelihood that we will probably end our days in a nursing home. It’s one of those things we dread, but statistics tell us that only a small percentage of us will have to endure that fate. Here is what I have found out.

There are approximately 18,000 nursing homes in the United States, two-thirds of which are operated for profit, with 55% owned by large nursing home chains. There are about 1.7 million nursing home beds in the United States. This represents less than 6% of the total number of Americans over the age of 65. It suggests that the vast majority of elderly will most likely spend their final years in their community residence.

As we maneuver through the stages of life, we eventually get to the stage when the children are raised, jobs are retired from, and we find ourselves able to remake ourselves, as it were. We are able to live out the question invariably asked of each of us at a very young age: WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?

Well my roommate of fifty one years plus has let her creative juices flow unabated and just for the fun of it is producing objects that rival her professional colleagues in the marketplace. That is a completely unbiased opinion of a completely unbiased observer of course, chuckle, chuckle.

She creates these objects in spite of being a person born under the sign of the Gemini. For those who don't take note of such things, those who entered this world between May 21 and June 21 of the year are officially designated a Gemeni. The symbol for Gemini is the twins, whose character traits are duality and changeability. My point being that it is my belief if my roommate would have not been born a Gemini she may have gone further in her chosen field of endeavor.

But now here we are on the other end of our lives interjecting the question: IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER, I WOULD HAVE...

It's fun having the time and freedom now to entertain questions such as these, and for my roommate to let her creativity flow and produce objects that reflect her talents and her Gemini given leanings of changeability just for that end, the fun of it.

A hackneyed truism about growing older is that the older we get the faster time flies. It is so real that we want to stand in the middle of a busy street with our arms outstretched screaming at the world to slow the speeding traffic, to slow every second to a more leisurely rate of spent energy; to salvage more time, more moments, more savings from our certain exhaustible supply preordained to us by the timekeeper of our worldly passage. A grandmother I know personally having fun with her grandsons knows these truths and also that they will soon morph into grown men and will no longer travel with her on the speeding merry-go-round in the race with time, but will travel into a future that belongs to the young and she cannot travel with them.

A letter to the editor from the grandmother depicted in the little piece above takes exception to the moroseness of it. She says we were having a great time and that's all there is to it. She's right of course, but perhaps it's just my sense of melancholia that gets riled up and I can't help myself and I take keyboard in hand and out comes what some people depict as depressing prose. Yeah maybe so, next time I will try more upbeat stuff.