Aging Gracefully? No Thanks

As I write this, unfortunately I don’t have much time left.  I was just given a prescription which confirms this unfortunate fact — a prescription for bifocals.  Whoever coined the phrase “aging gracefully” never took into consideration mustaches and beards – on women.  Let’s not even talk about slowing metabolism or failing eyesight that likes to fail worse each and every year.    Walking into the eye doctor’s office has become somewhat akin to trying on swimsuits.

 Not to incriminate myself in print, but is it illegal to drive with dilated eyes?  I tried to text my husband to help, but texting with dilated eyes – impossible.  I ended up sending him a message that said, “Help - Ocant see.” He sent me back a message, which after enlarging to 50 point font, I was able to read.  He asked where I was.  I naturally wrote back in normal sized font, “Fayutfv aqtgb.”  He texted me back, “I put "Fayutfv aqtgb" in my GPS and it won't show up.”

 Speaking of men and their dependence on GPS, I think back to the old days when we (women) used to joke about men getting lost and refusing to ask directions.  I guess technology has rendered those jokes obsolete, but now my man can’t seem to go five miles without using his GPS.  I just wished they would add some component to GPS that wouldn’t just tell my husband how to get to the grocery, but remind him for the tenth time what we need once he arrives.

 There’s no question the younger generation is incredibly hip with their electronics and so much more so then we were at that age. Now to make up for this disparaging difference in e-savvyness, we, the geezers, are doing great by texting and social networking with our fellow geezers.  Rylan has a cellphone she’s only supposed to use for ballet.  She spends an inordinate amount of time dancing and since I’m not always with her, it’s a good way to communicate she’s ready for pickup or whatever.  She was recently in an all-day ballet class and since it was our first day apart in a long time, I missed her.  I began texting her silly little notes for no reason.  After going back and forth, she texted me, “Stop – in class.”  Basically my 8-year-old daughter told me to grow up and act my age.

 We were recently driving when Rylan looked over and asked, “What’s that sign?”  I said, “What sign?”  She replied, “The yellow and black one.”  The sign was for a fallout shelter.  Great – here was another opportunity to remind me of how old I truly am.  I reminisced about the good ol’ days - fallout shelters and fallout shelter drills when young children got to practice for an apocalypse. How messed up was that?  Instilling in children not only fear of nuclear fallout, but topping it off with practicing world-end scenarios.  The only thing that could have messed up a child more would be growing up in Washington, D.C.  You know, the place most likely to be destroyed by an atomic bomb.  I’ll give you one guess where I grew up.

 As we usher in September, the start of the school year and the beginning of routine again, I think back to my youth and try to remember 3rd grade – the grade which Rylan is entering.  I remember 2nd and 4th, but there’s no recollection of 3rd, which could only mean one thing.  I must have been so smart I skipped 3rd and went straight to 4th.  That’d be a great explanation, had it not been for the fact I have a 4th grade picture with among other people I don’t remember, I’m there too.  Aging gracefully?  There’s nothing graceful about any of this.

By Donna L. Cole

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