The Truth About Getting Older

 When I tell people that I am almost two years past my "Biblical Sell-by Date of Three Score and Ten" I usually get a response right out of a motivational poster. I am told "Age is all in your head," or "You're only as old as you feel," "age is just a number" or some other positive platitude. This week my 79 year old best friend is having stomach problems, my 83 year old sister was having trouble breathing and was hospitalized, another 67 year old friend had triple by-pass surgery and I struggled to cut my lawn, a task I've done hundreds of times. It gets lonelier and lonelier as we love those we love (No true love story has a happy ending) which is perhaps the hardest part of the tail end of life.           

To tell the truth, "Age is all in your body and its failing,", "If you're only as old as you feel, start digging the hole right now because I feel like hell," and if "age is just a number, my number is almost up!" I must say that the old talk show host Art Linkletter was right when he said, "Old age is not for sissies." Being old for most of us is a tough job and it is not a job with much of a future. I almost want to go on a job interview just to answer the question, "Where do you see yourself in ten years?" The answer is "DEAD! I'm likely to be DEAD in ten years!" 

So why do I keep going? Why don't I talk a long walk on a short pier? As tough as getting older is, it beats the alternative. I still find life worth living, I still like to hear the birds singing in the morning and the sun on my face. I still enjoy reading a good book, and spending time with friends and family. I don't need to lie to myself and pretend that I am not falling apart like a rusty old Buick. I am resolved to face my final years with courage and curiosity. I plan to make the most of the time I have left and do what I can with the energy I can still muster. My philosophy is best expressed in the lyrics of a song by Steve Goodman. In the Ballad of Carl Martin, a tale of an old jazz musician, Goodman wrote, "Its a mighty short trip from the cradle to the crypt so you better get it while you can."

Mow Power to me

 I cut my lawn today. This doesn't seem like such a big deal except that it is the first time I have performed this task since my accident last summer. My legs aren't what they used to be, and I tire easily so my daughter wanted me to hire sometime to mow my grass. I have the money to pay someone and this would be the easiest way to handle this chore, but I just couldn't bring myself to give up this task. 

I have been mowing lawns since I have been 8 years old and was tasked with cutting my grandmother's lawn with an old rotary push mower. Doing this chore for my grandma made me feel important, like I was doing something productive. Since then, I've cut my parent's grass, my own lawn and my kid's properties. I always found grass cutting to be a satisfying task; I like the sense of immediate accomplishment that comes from viewing a freshly cut lawn. 

As I've aged my health has declined and I have had to give up many things. I know that eventually I will have to turn cutting my grass over to someone else, but for now, "you can take my mower when you pull my cold dead fingers off its handle." I will continue to do this pleasant and satisfying task until I can't do it any "mow!" (Sorry for the PUN--silly humor is something else I refuse to give up)