Oddments

In search of story


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Connections: February 22

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERACONFLAGRATION

It starts in November

with Ann

the first in our historic

baby span.

In December comes Donna

in January, yours truly

today comes Bill

now we celebrate duly:

I have declared

by formal decree

that not until Bill

are we officially 73.

That’s 292 candles

and there is absolutely no doubt

taking two at a time

we can blow them all out.

So happy birthday to us,

creaky, not done,

and a Geritol toast:

one for all, all for one!

Connections


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Rant

I had no illusions. I knew when I bought this house that I was moving into a youthful neighborhood. I knew the lives of everyone around me would be different from mine. I knew, I knew.

But things have gone too far. Two of my lithe and smooth-skinned neighbors are pregnant. Hormones ought not be so flaunted.

People run everywhere. With stopwatches and strollers. They ride bikes, skate, and I swear I’ve heard pogo sticks. Sweating is socially acceptable. Energy abounds and muscles ripple. Flaunt, flaunt, flaunt.

I recently saw a reference to people “50 and better.” 50 and BETTER? How patronizing. Why not just pat me on my little greying head and send me to my rocker with my afghan and Geritol julep? The word is “older,” thank you.

AARP sends me glossy magazines touting the trim glow of celebrities. Puh-leeze. They have nothing to do with me or I with them. I live a real life. My right knee makes a peculiar soft clicking noise when I go downstairs. On occasion my hips seem out of sync with my legs, where veins rise up like the Rockies. My fingers grow ever more gnarled and painful. I sag everywhere. My skin grows toadstools. And, worse yet, my granddaughter plays with my old-lady elbows and tempts me to forget I dote on her.

I have heard women talk about “getting over” and “moving beyond” body image. To them I say — and loudly — IMPOSSIBLE! Not that I ever had much body to have an image about, but still I miss the days when I could get up from the floor.

Golden years, my Aunt Fanny, as my ancestors would say.

There. I’m done for now.