I have recently found myself quoting Bette Davis on more than one occasion. “Growing older,” she is reputed to have said, “is not for sissies.” Here are some of the surprises/mysteries of aging that I have encountered as I contemplate Bette's words:
There is a woman living in my house with me. I did not invite her in, and I don’t want her company. She looks a bit like my mother and a bit like my Aunt Pat (may they rest in peace). To be honest, I have not seen this woman in the flesh, but she follows me from mirror to mirror, so I know she’s here and I know what she looks like.
Fingers crossed she will stay behind to haunt the new inhabitants of this house when I move.
I don't feel old. Yes, my chronological age is mid-70s, and, sure, I sometimes feel my age physically after spending a day with my grandkids, but the age I feel in my heart and soul is 50-ish. Which
brings me to my next point.
Grandmothers depicted in children’s books are nearly always dumpy and featureless, with short, gray poodle curls. Oh, and they are often wearing an apron. Ok, so I occasionally wear an apron, but I don’t look like these illustrations and neither do my friends. Can we update these illustrations, please?
Time is moving much more swiftly than ever before. Indeed, it is galloping by so quickly that I sometimes feel I had better jump out of the way or it will run me over. Here is an example - my twin granddaughters who were born five minutes ago just celebrated their fourth birthday!
When I wake up in the morning, my hair is parted down the back of my head, in the manner of the Red Sea. Even if I wet it down and dry it, there is still a visible dent where the Red Sea has come back together.
No comments:
Post a Comment