Tag: old age

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Um, I Have Some Bad News for You…

I’ve been reading about the 46 year old man who plans to live forever.

He’s been subjecting himself to all the latest and greatest in medicines, diet and exercise, with a little voodoo in there by injecting himself with his sons blood – ewwww.

He looks great and no doubt he feels terrific. I can attest, my 40’s was by far the best decade of my life too – uh, without all the latest and greatest and millions to burn. I was fit and happy and…

Well, what can I say dear fellow.

I have some bad news for you.

You will get sick. And, you will eventually die.

So sorry. But that is how biology works.

No matter what kind of great shape you are in, entropy is gonna find you, because despite our best intentions, and sometimes because of them, our bodies and minds wear out.

It is called old age.

I did too much exercise (warning to all you extreme fitness freaks) and now I can’t do very much. I had only a few serious overuse injuries in my life but oh boy, do they come back to haunt you and severely limit you. Even without that, our bodies cannot and will not do what they could when they were young. You will find this out. I can assure you, it is a FACT!

I have discovered that there is little difference in life span between those who took care of themselves and those who were a little more lenient.

So just a heads up on this. You can overdo good intentions and shorten your life. Ah, life is a trickster! So don’t be too smug about your health. In an instant you can lose it.

Your life is never on hold. Just enjoy what you have today. Tomorrow never comes, and neither will biological immortality.

Do something that is so wonderful you leave a legacy of goodness in this world instead of concentrating so hard on your own self interests. If you have millions to spend on yourself, you’d do better to help someone who has nothing, or someone really struggling to survive. That is the best way to live forever, and the only way.

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Shocks to the System

Getting old is just one shock to the system after another.

I write this because I am mad about the judgement placed on seniors about their abilities.

The seniors you read about that run marathons and stuff like that, are the extreme exception to the rule. I hate that younger people think all seniors are physically and mentally capable of such feats, and are therefore lazy.

This is a huge big lie, and you need to get that out of your head. We cannot do what we once were able to. It is not a matter of not wanting to. It is a truth we are not able. And NO, seventy is not the new forty. Stop that shit.

I was athletic and healthy all my life. I ate well, took care of myself, was never way overweight. I ran 10K’s. I cycled thousands of kilometers. I danced. I went to the gym and lifted weights four or more days a week. I went canoeing, paddleboarding, hiking. I was fit. No major diseases.

And then I got old and I can do NONE of that now.

If you live long enough, you are going to start to fall apart. I don’t care who you are. It will happen to you. Usually in bits and pieces, one shock after another, but sometimes in one big shock.

And it is not just your body. Your brain is tired. You are not as quick. You cannot endure eight or more hours of brain work at a go. You need a lot of rest.

It does not matter what you do, it will happen to you.

That is why we need guaranteed income when we are old. We can no longer earn it, and we have a lot of expenses that young people don’t have. It is costly to stay alive and have a good quality of life.

We have contributed our lives and sometimes our very souls to the world of work and community during our time here, not to mention, raising you young people and providing you with shelter, food and opportunity for a good life.

Cut us some slack.

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A Nice Idea

My cat Sam has a favourite toy which he has secretly stashed at least 50 of them somewhere in the apartment.  Every couple of weeks I buy him another one or two, and they also disappear in a short space of time.

He also has a good supply of pens, pencils and erasers, specially selected from my studio.

Like cats, we humans are collectors, we develop a fondness for an item and then have to have every possible form of it.  There are collectors of toy pigs, cat figurines, spoons, books, match boxes, Santa Claus dolls, you name it, people will collect it.

But collections can begin because we forget.  There in the store is an object that would be great to have, you buy it, and discover you already have it, maybe 2 or 3 times over already.

When you are young you can remember everything you possess, even the cans of food in your cupboard and paperclips on your desk.  Not when you age a bit.  Now I understand why I found 5 of any given item in my Mom’s house.  Why I find the same in mine.

I went through phases of deliberate collecting of favourite things, like most people do at some point in their lives.  Eventually you find a like minded collector and happily hand it all over to them.  My collections now happen because I forget, or I am winter stock piling.

When you get older, winter stock piling is not just a quirk, it is a necessity.  There are power outages, ice storms, illnesses that can prevent you accessing even the simplest of things.  Stocking up on heavy items before the snow falls is a good idea, like kitty litter, and necessities like toilet paper.  You have to be older to understand this.  I used to think my Mom was nuts doing that.  Sorry Mom!

The accidental collections are what bring me a good laugh.  When I get home with that prized kitchen gadget, tool, art supply or toy and discover I already have it, I laugh.  If it was an expensive item I can force a chuckle.

Fortunately I always find an eager recipient to relieve me of overstock, or I donate it to goodwill.  As money gets tighter I do far less of what I call ‘excited shopping’ and try to stick to my list.

In all fairness to my forgetfulness, I remember items I use frequently.  I think you only need to worry if you start buying toasters and refrigerators, things you use every day.  Or bring home a new spouse or another kitty because you forgot you already have them, and thought it would be a nice idea.

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The Gift

I dusted off the case and opened it; the 3 sections of silver flute glistened from the backdrop of black velvet.  Ah.  At last.  I assemble the instrument and anticipate the moment beautiful sounds fill my ears.

For 8 long weeks I could not play the flute.  To do so resulted in coughing up my lungs for an hour.  I suffered a bad virus which incapacitated me in many ways beyond flute playing.  But it was the flute playing I missed the most.

Playing an instrument is therapeutic.  Even to play it badly, which is frequently my norm, is still relaxing.  I relied on it to dissipate frustrating days and to mellow my working mind to an evening of peaceful reflection.

The gift this Christmas was opening that box.  My neighbours probably were not so pleased.  I found it difficult to play at first and I’d forgotten some notes and fingerings. Slowly it all started to come back and by today I am at least where I was 8 weeks ago.  It is hard to advance much with just 25 minutes practice a day – but I am respectful of fellow tenants and limit my joy.  Otherwise, I’d probably be hours at it.

During the hiatus I satisfied myself watching You Tube flute instructional videos.  There are hundreds but I have my favorite and I was delighted to watch a lot of those.  I also watched videos comparing all manner of flutes from student to 3 times my annual salary and had my ears heightened to the differences in tone quality (and hence my budget considerations for a flute purchase just increased).

I look at my student rental and determine to make it sound like it is 20K.  Admittedly, I have difficultly making it sound as it should.  No matter, in my mind I hear hypnotic melodies, sometimes even symphonies.

I am enamored with music in much the same way as I once was with mathematics.  They are elegant languages, representations of things we cannot adequately put into words.  The symbols allow us to replicate complicated ideas, to interpret them in our own style, embellish them, expand on them.  I delight in the design and patterns formed by symbols and digits across a page.  There are ground rules, but from there you can soar.  From there is birthed art!

I sometimes regret not having studied music in my youth, but perhaps it would have gone the same route as mathematics.  Two things conspired to make me abandon that subject; women didn’t do math in the 1960’s and they made math so boring.   Thus I was highly discouraged to continue but this was not such a hardship, as the way they taught math made it exceedingly mind deadening.  I was curious and creative and that does not fit rote and memorization.  I found this to be a bit true when I took music lessons, and I got a little discouraged by that.  I am not well suited to sit and shut up and just memorize.  I want to make it mine!  I want to take it places!

I put my flute away and face another week of work, very grateful that I have had these few days to rest and do the things I love.  My cat takes one last swat at the metronome and all is quiet.

 

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Something to Say

Once my Mother suggested I write a newsletter and I replied “But what would I write about? to which she shot back “Since when did you lack for something to say?”.

She was right of course.

But I come to today’s writing and find I don’t have anything I want to say.

I have the reassurance however that no one reads my blog, so why worry?  Except, I love to write, no wait, it is beyond that, I have to write.

It is a compelling force that never lets me alone.  I write about anything and everything all the time, or the same thing over and over.

It took me months to shred all the angst filled journals I used to fill with ink, and I have filing cabinets overflowing with stories I’ve written in long hand.  Yes, I write everything in longhand, just like my Dad.  And just like him I have my favourite utensils; his was a mechanical pencil on foolscap, mine a black pen on ruled paper pad, affixed to a clipboard uncomfortably balanced on my lap.

I do not enjoy the ease of typing on a computer, which I totally do not understand since I love typing on my typewriter.

As a youngster I typed out my imaginations on a gigantic Underwood, it was magic with its long stemmed jamming keys.  It would be fabulous to have that back!  I evolved to portables and then electric, until they stopped making typewriters.  I found my stories sounded different when done on a typewriter.  Pen in hand became my preferred choice when computers arrived.  I write them out, then put them on my laptop.  However, I must confess, last year I purchased an electric Smith Corona for $15 at a Thrift Shop and have been happily pounding out a story ever since!

So why write a blog?  Indeed, especially one like this with no point?  Well, it is something I’ve wanted to do since my Underwood days.  Have my own column in a magazine.  I had a lot of topics to discuss then.  But today I’m not so opinionated.  Now I have my own spot in the internet universe.  I have little idea why such a thing is so compelling, and I’d prefer not to understand actually.

I started off with something in mind, and that was my retirement but I see this blog is evolving, and leading me somewhere.  I don’t much care where.  I suppose once I am at my where someone will read it.

It is not important.  What seems to matter is I delight in doing something that is totally my own once a week.

Maybe next week I’ll have something to say.

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Your Calling

I was asked recently “How do you receive your calling?”, to which I glibly replied that God no longer calls, He texts.

It has some truth to it.

I think it is very rare that a person has an a-ha moment.  I always wanted one.  The fire of God just hits me and POW I know who I want to be and what I should be doing.  The truth however is a lot less dramatic.  I walked around with my mouth half open, looking pretty stupid and not having much direction at all.  I did a lot of hoping, wishing and praying.  Only to find that the a-ha has been right in my face all along.  I should have seen it too – I am very nearsighted!

Since most of us have no clue what a true version of ourselves is, we need to let God work that out.  And when it is you are likely to remark “I knew that!”, and maybe feel a little stupid afterwards.  Sometimes your calling doesn’t exist yet in the world, and you have to wait for it to appear.  Maybe you are already living it and don’t realize it.  You are tired of it and want something new.  Or maybe you simply can’t believe it, or think it should be something else, something better.  Perhaps others tell you what it should be.  Many times, a calling is not a grand affair, but it has a great impact on the world, perhaps many years later in the future.  A calling is not what you think it is.  But it all works for God.

My life story is not an arrow, it is a convoluted, messed up, child’s crayon squiggles across a ripped up, yellowing piece of construction paper.  That is my journey.  Step forward.  Steps backward.  Lessons learned and most forgot.  There is no point A and point B.  I’ve been all over the map.

For me, my whole miserable adult life was a journey back to childhood.  I knew who I was then.  I just forgot and had to make a 40+ year trip to get back there.  Sound familiar?

But this trip is not about years or age.  It is about mind.  The constant renewing of my mind.  There is no “Hello, this is God, do this”.  I have had an ongoing dialogue of which God knows the direction of, the things to be addressed and how long it will take, taking into account how stubborn I am.  No doubt I delayed the process by being a mule at times.  Shutting myself off to new ideas and experiences, just plain getting tired of it, clinging to the past, living for the future, and having my own ideas (UGH!).

Life is an ever present unfolding, an evolution, a constant movement of things in and out.  All these things offer delights; a lesson, a message, an emotion, an experience.  They are all gifts to be embraced and enjoyed.  Some will teach, some will reach, and others are just for fun.  God uses all of it to bring you to your highest self, and that just might be full circle back to where you started.

It is my wish this Christmas that you embrace your life and live it fully.  Allow God to guide you in your journey to your highest self.  Guidance and messages can appear anywhere.  Keep your eyes and ears and heart open.  Your calling is coming by text.  It says “Let joy be your reason”.  Follow joy in all your decisions and you’ll start to get on track.

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Second Childhood

I laugh to say this –

“Technology had to catch up to me”

Especially since I was a hold out on landline telephones until this year.

Locked in me is my 5 year old creative self.  So many interests that, unfortunately, in the mindset of 1960’s middle class dumb were not valid careers.  At least, not for a woman.

Acceptable career choices were like frame selections for glasses – four.  Round, cat eye, aviator and engineer glasses (plastic top, wire bottom).  Secretary, Stewardess, Telephone Operator, Housewife.  Breaking outside of these boundaries were not for the faint of heart as any woman who did can now attest.

Creative endeavors were regarded as cottage industry crafts.  Lots of manual labor, little profit.  But I saw a world beyond craft sales.  I wanted to have my own column in a magazine and publish my stories in books.  Display my art on book covers and advertisements.  See my photo’s in journals and coffee table books.  Design clothes and merchandise.  Most of all, I wanted to make epic movies like Cecil B. DeMille, Sergio Leone and John Huston.  Not very likely to happen for a middle class suburbia girl.

Careers slightly outside of the norm lacked imagination.  Thus, because I excelled in math, my parents envisioned a career in accounting.  The only creativity I could find in that involved food – fudging the numbers and cooking the books.  I was bored to tears and quit.  My head was off into astronomy, physics and mechanics.  I had a love affair with cars.  Exploration of these pursuits were confined to books, museum visits, and much to my parents chagrin, tinkering with mechanical beings – including the car.

Womanhood arrived, dragging with it, office work, the killer of imagination.

Severely strangled, but not snuffed out, all my interests stayed with me through an emotional adulthood.  They surfaced occasionally, wrecked havoc with the boredom of office work, fought with me constantly to be expressed and whenever possible completely took over all my senses and caused me to quit viable jobs.  Left and right brain waged war.

Enter the digital age.  My knight in shining armor.

Publish?  Design?  Create?  Permission granted!  No panel of judges to determine if I am worthy.  Software and hardware abound!  Upon the discovery of this new world, I plunged in with a custom built computer, affording me ten years of epic film making.  Bless the internet – I publish books, design merchandise, I have my own Blog!

I don’t much care if no one ever sees my stuff.  I am a child once more.  That is enough.  My second childhood.