Saturday, September 25, 2021

Seventy is the new...what was I saying?


Amazon.com: Oldometer 69 70: Is your odometer running? Do you know someone  who is turning seventy on the odometer? Then this Journal is for you, let  everyone know you have a lot


Today is my last day in my sixties.  Tomorrow I cross the threshold into a new decade.  Holy moly...how did that happen? How can I be Seventy?

Seventy  year old women are old, like orthopedic shoes and blue hair old.  They tell the same stories over and over (ok...guilty!) and complain about their aches and pains to strangers. They shuffle along stooped over, wear adult diapers, and drive at half the speed limit. I can check those off my "not applicable" list.

Neither of my parents lived this long so I don't have a frame of reference from them.  My grandmothers seemed ancient at ages I now realize were much younger.  So what has changed? Why don't I feel old and decrepit (at least most of the time, anyway)?

Brendan, my husband, is fond of saying, "The world is passing me by."  He seems resigned to the fact that the times-up buzzer is looming.  When a fresh-faced young man appeared at the door one day to sell us solar panels for the roof, Brendan abruptly ended the conversation once he heard that it would take twenty years to reach a break-even point to justify the expense. "I won't be around that long," he said emphatically, closing the front door on the startled salesman.  Oh, Mr. B! (*sigh*)

I, on the other hand, intend to stick around as long as I can.  There are too many things left to do.  Besides, I have enough yarn in my stash for five lifetimes of knitting and I am determined to use up as much as I can! 

I realize that every day is a gift, some better than others.  But even the Booby prize days have their silver lining.  And those make the Gold Star days shine even brighter:  A crisp sun-spilt autumn day, reading The Wonky Donkey to my grandson, an afternoon spent with a friend laughing and enjoying the sounds and smells of the ocean...there are many more of those ahead, I am sure.  

So bring it on, Seventy!  I'll take the wrinkles, the sore knees, and even those moments grasping for a familiar name in the vast databanks of memory.  Those memory  cells are pretty  full but there is still plenty of room for new input. You're just a number and mine ain't up just yet!  And remember 70 is only 21 in Celsius!