The Art of Aging...Well

As the pandemic hit in 2020, many of us baby boomers were shocked we were considered "elderly." No, we weren't elderly; we were the "New Pepsi Generation!" We were the youth of the 60s and would live forever. Elderly? No way we were elderly. Our PARENTS were elderly.

When my grandmother was in her 80s, she was on the phone with a doctor's office receptionist, who asked, "Are you elderly?" Gramma answered with bewilderment, "Well, I'm not yet 90...."

And yet here were are, hitting our 70s, thinking we will live to be 150 years old as we are still "middle aged." Seems there should be something between 50s and 90s--between middle-aged and elderly--to describe the current baby boomer generation.  But no. We are aging hippies and aging business people and aging grand parents...you know. Aging.

We get called "Boomers," a pejorative term implying that our opinions are out of touch and outdated. Outdated! We created this world. I mean, we have danced using transistor radios, boom boxes, 4- and 8-track players, CD players, MP3s and streaming music. We've watched black and white televisions, color televisions, remote control televisions, rabbit-eared televisions, streaming television. We created the Internet! We swung from trees, drank from hoses, and rode our bikes all over without parental tracking. And here we are "Booming."

Some people are just laying around, being old. Some people are running around jumping out of airplanes and dead-lifting at the gym. Some people are getting face lifts, arm lifts, boob lifts, butt lifts. Some people are letting all those wrinkles and cottage-cheese skin bumps come along for the ride. Some of us are forgetting we are aging and continue being whatever we are being. 

We are trying to figure out how to live with the aches and the pains that can come with growing older. We are trying to not be our parents--they were always out of touch, weren't they? But as we grew older, they grew smarter, didn't they?

I don't have the answer of how to lose my slot in the New Pepsi Generation, the best way to move through this middle-part before I, like Gramma, turn 90; therefore, elderly. So I guess I will simply continue to be that sometimes weird aging-hippie flower child who takes some ibuprofen every day in order to move around better, watches old episodes of Perry Mason, and enjoys life best I can. Yeah, guess that'll do for now.

and so it goes
peace~~~

The Adventures of Nellie and Doris: All the Rest and Yet So Many More

 

When I was almost 24, we moved to Portland. We rented a small two-bedroom house that sat on a corner. The property sort of blended into the streets because there were no sidewalks--those didn't arrive for several years. We had plenty of yard because the landlord also owned the empty lot next door. Adding to the yard, our house sat back from the street. We had a line of trees along one street and a lovely blooming cherry tree in front of the house. Of course, all those trees went away when the county put in sidewalks.

Our house was small and a bit drafty. This was because at one time a former tenant's car was parked too close to the house and slid under it. Without rugs, wind rushed through the flooring. Under the house was actually an unfinished basement, if you’d call it that.  Besides mud and bricks and other debris from the side of the house, that’s where the water heater hung out. And the opossum and feral cats, and so on. But the rent was only $130 a month, which the landlord never raised in the 15 years my sons and I lived there, so what did one expect?

Nellie lived across the street in a nice three-bedroom mid-century modern house that she and Bobby bought a few years before we moved there. Nellie was about 28 when we moved into the neighborhood. In a sense, we grew up together with our kids the same ages and we were pretty close in age as well. 

She was the best friend I could ever have. That woman never said no to any of my crazy ideas. 

     *Hey! Let’s walk up to Mt Scott Park and roller skate!

     *Hey! Let’s walk to Dairy Queen for exercise and treat ourselves with a Peanut Buster Parfait!

     *Hey! Why don’t we go get those special donuts and eat them while hiding from the kids!

And I could always count on Nellie for great adventures.

There was the time she noticed someone in my house when no one was home. And then helped me deal with the police. Or the time she saw movement in the house, called Big Earnie, a state trooper, to go check it out…only to have him escort my son to school. 

The time someone stole my car and she was shocked when I yelled out, “Where’s my car!?!”  She had watched it drive away, thinking it was me in the drivers seat.

And let’s not forget the time the neighborhood kids filled my car with crumpled newspapers and put a “Just Married” sign on the car. 😁

How about the times she and our neighbor Shirley would see me get out a ladder in order to get something off the roof and come running over to make sure I never went up that ladder just in case my clumsy self didn’t fall.

And the talking. And laughing. And crying. And did I mention laughing?

All the attempts to lose weight—we tried TOPS and that chocolate candy that hinders appetite. Dang those chocolates were not very good but better than nothing.  One before meals was recommended but a bit more of the chocolate couldn’t hurt…. Weight Watchers was our most frequent attempt. Measuring, weighing, eating.

 

 And, of course, the store. The neighborhood Kwik Mart. I’d visit her while she worked. She’d visit me while I worked. We’d both clean up the shelves, or “face” the products together while the store wasn’t busy. Heck, we’d both face the shelves at Tradewell up the street when we’d shop there. Habit 😂

 

We didn’t see as much of each other after I moved up north of town, but we kept in touch.  When her nephew Winston died and she was afraid I was also gone, I rushed to her. And there we were, laughing and crying and talking. When she had a stroke, I rushed to the hospital to be with her. And there we were, laughing and crying and talking.

Her diagnosis of pancreatic cancer was a shock to us all. I spent time with her when she was back in hospital, twice driving through the ice and snow. Her sister, Mary, and Nellie and I would be laughing and talking. I’d save my crying for the drive home.

Nellie hung in there at home for many many months on Hospice Care after she stopped chemotherapy, often surrounded by her children, grandkids, great grandees. I would call every few days and ask if she wanted company. She often did and I’d come over and chatter, bringing our memories together to the surface. I was fortunate to be with her earlier on the day she died. One more adventure, this time without me.

While it’s impossible to write every adventure we ever had—so many forgotten, so many memories lost—my sweetest times with this remarkable woman were just every day every way every moment. 

And now I have these simple words to remember my friend. We did grow old together, just not old enough.

and so it goes~~~

peace