One late Sunday evening, after being in the house alone all weekend, I started down that melancholy path of “getting old is hard.” I realized that I had not learned much about aging from my parents or other relatives. I’d mostly responded when they needed help, and they didn’t share their aging experience with me (or maybe I didn’t listen). I started saying to myself, “I never thought that. . . “ and my list began.
I never thought that aches and pains could be a topic of conversation. Now, when I sit with my contemporaries, we invariably start with the litany. Who knew the bonding that can occur around bunions, trigger fingers, sore shoulders, hips. . .
I never thought. . . I’d have to eat kale to stay young. Growing up in the 50’s, the main green was iceberg lettuce, cold and crisp.
First everyone said, “try romaine.” I thought it tasted overly strong. Next were field greens. I adjusted to both,
but then came kale. I sometimes wish I’d never heard of it. It’s a dark time for greens and diet.
And I will never forget Elaine’s big salad:
https://www.youtube.com/shorts/Fet3c0U4vWs
What about grains? I thought spaghetti was a perfectly lovely grain, especially with a greasy meatball on top. Now it’s all about farro and quinoa—rice, you know, has arsenic in it.
I never thought that drinking coffee after 2pm could be a problem when I went to bed. I was one of those schoolteachers with a cup in one hand and chalk in the other. My own kids complained about teachers’ coffee breath, but I was sure I didn’t have it. How I long for the days of endless cups, every time I needed a break from something tedious! And coffee started keeping me awake just when ordinary coffee became delicious—we could buy whole beans and grind them ourselves. No more church basement coffee, which, incidentally, still tastes good to me.
I never thought I’d walk into a room and wonder why I was there. Or loose the title of a favorite book on the tip of my tongue. Forget the name of Ozzie and Harriet’s other son—Ricky and ?? (I refuse to ask Google. I’m waiting for the memory to surface.) I’m still quick with music titles—they must live in another part of the brain.
I never thought I’d need a strategy for unscrewing jars—some of my rosemaling friends carry pliers to open paint tubes. My late husband Jim and I used to have contests over who would get the jar opened first. When he wasn’t looking, I’d use a rubber thingamajig to help me win. (I’m sure he knew and humored me).
And I never thought I’d think twice or three times or four, about taking a big trip. I’d check my passport and go.
And then there’s being married three times. I never imagined such a thing when I promised “till death do us part.” Three fine men—enough said.
Interestingly, as I listed all the changes aging has wrought, I found myself considering the whole of my life and a different list started to emerge. It wasn’t a dirge but celebratory.
I never thought family and friends would bring such joy. When I can’t do something, I call my children or grandchildren. Can’t change a bulb? Call someone, and while they climb the ladder and screw in a bulb, we get to talk. Can’t assemble something from IKEA? Call grandson Henrik—he loves to put things together while I make us a salmon dinner. Need help around the house? Granddaughters love telling me what to do, and I like taking their bossy directions. Need advice? Call a friend. I’m free to take their advice or not, and we get to talk.
Can’t run the stairs—so use the railing. . . and be careful.
Big trip—thank goodness I have more judgment than my younger self did.
And those aches and pains? They’re a good excuse to spend the afternoon reading a book, of which I probably won’t remember the title, but I can look it up on Google.
The marvel of living through the changes in the world is another landing. Yes, I could get bogged down on the frustrations with screen time and AI and processed food and TSA requirements and phone chains and ya da ya da ya da. But wow, what a journey! World War II to 2025.
My mother had bad knees. In her 60’s she had one of them replaced. Although the replacement ended her pain, she barely walked after the surgery. When told she needed to exercise it, she said, “Not me. I don’t exercise. I don’t even like people who exercise.” It was a joke, but there was truth in it. She did not see the point of exercise. The artificial knee bulged under her skin, not like the natural looking replacements of today. Seeing that scared me, I resolved that I would be different; I would exercise and stay fit—I would head off the bad knees and old age, too. From about my thirties, I ran, walked, lifted weights, saw a trainer, swam lengths, did aerobics, the treadmill, rowing machine and elliptical. . . at least until COVID.
Well, guess what? My knees never got the message. They hurt and are bone on bone as doctors like to describe it. I’ve been literally brought to my knees. I never thought that could happen. But maybe it’s a good thing. I never thought I’d understand humility either, but I do, along with other values that aging is teaching me. And, at the end of the day, I can still get on my knees and say thank you for everything I never thought would happen.
Karens' Descant 