By Joe Rector
It’s that time of year that might be the best. The weather is warm enough to forget about heavy coats, but cool enough to keep a light jacket handy. Yards are mowed and manicured, and shrubs and flowers are bursting with colors.
I am in a transition period of life. The realization of that fact is hard to accept. I look around at others and wonder how they grew so old. Then, a look in the mirror shocks me with the realization that I, too, am old. Yep, my generation is now made up of the old folks. We count our time left in years instead of decades. Too many of our friends have already passed, and accepting their ends is difficult.
I don’t think about being in bad health. Still, I can’t do what I used to do. Working outside in the yard all day is a thing of the past. I might make it for half the day. The rest of the time, I’m sitting on my couch with the dogs and watching the world go to hell in a handbasket. Breaks come sooner when I do undertake a task. At one time in life, I was driven to complete a job before going inside, and often the end came after dark. Now, I go until my body screams, “Stop.” Getting out of bed in the morning isn’t that exciting anymore, and I find myself sitting up until the wee hours of the morning. At one point, I could play a round of golf in the morning and then work all day at home. Now, after eighteen holes, I collapse on something soft and fall asleep. Mother used to complain about not being able to do what she once could, and now I understand that frustration.
The aches and pains that accompany aging have set in. Thumbs and fingers ache with arthritis, joints and once-broken bones now announce changes in the weather. Typing sometimes is difficult since a couple of years ago I severed a finger, which was reattached. Sometimes this digit cooperates, but sometimes it doesn’t move so well. Much of the time in producing pieces is spent backspacing to correct mistakes. Too much physical exercise during the day leads to a night of hopping out of bed when cramps lock up calf and thigh muscles. The worst thing is the burning in my legs and hips when I exert them by walking or working.
My body doesn’t work like it once did, and that distresses me. Another thing that isn’t so good is that growing older has caused me to lose my filter. I used to be able to close my mouth and let some things slide. Now, that doesn’t happen much. Instead, I react before my slowing mind kicks in, and I say exactly what I am thinking. Honesty is one thing that is good, but tact is also a valuable quality. That second one is gone now. At times, I regret what I’ve uttered, but most of the time, I say things, stand by them, and let others judge my outburst. Most of the time, I’ve said what others are thinking, but with age comes a freedom to speak the truth without worrying how others might react.
One thing is true about my generation. At this point in time, we are in this world, but not of it. Our time, the 60s through the 90s, is long gone. We exist in a world that is filled with technological gadgets we don’t understand. I can’t work my phone half the time; my grandson Madden has been proficient in such things since he was three. Choosing the correct remote control for the correct item is perplexing. Features on my car go undiscovered until I hit one by mistake. A world of AI annoys me because I don’t know what is real and what is computer-generated.
Too much of my time is spent sitting, sleeping, and trying to remember where I put something or why I walked into a room. No, I’ve not lost my grip on the world yet. If I do, I hope the good Lord will take me. Until then, I’ll do what I can, take my daily handful of pills, and reminisce about an earlier, more exciting time of life.
