Jackie Wells-Fauth
It’s not a matter of getting old. Of course, I know I’m not old. I’m sure I’m not! I do all the things I can to try and salvage what is left of my body after years of neglect and I do brain teasers and crosswords and read copiously to keep up with my…what’s that term? Oh yes! My mental health, that’s what I’m keeping up!
So, as you can see, I am not old. That’s why it’s so curious (that took a minute—I had to look up how to spell that one) that so many things occur that might give a person the idea that I might just be headed around the proverbial bend from middle age into some sort of, possibly—older age; that’s the expression I’m looking for!
Where was I? Oh yes, those pesky, unpleasant little things that might be aging me. There’s not a person in the world who hasn’t walked in a room and asked herself (himself) “Why did I come in here again?” Unfortunately, I have graduated to doing it several times for the same item.
“You’ve come in here and left three times already,” Roy said one evening, “What are you doing?”
“I wish I knew,” I answered in exasperation, “I hate when that hap—MY PHONE!” I suddenly screamed, causing Roy to flinch back in shock, “I came in here to get my phone, I remember!”
“Except your phone is in the bedroom, remember? That’s where you put it,” he replied.
“I think you put it there, and you’re just trying to gaslight me,” I said as I headed for the bedroom.
“Whatever makes you feel good,” he replied.
I stomped into the bedroom and stopped abruptly at the door. “What did I come in here for?”
It’s even worse when I involve Roy in my “age-itis”. The other day, I took the refrigerator shelves apart to give them a good cleaning.
“Can you help me put them back?” I asked Roy. “It’s hard for me to reach down to the bottom shelf.” (Not because I’m old!)
I positioned the bottom shelf for him, and he struggled for five minutes, and it just wouldn’t snap into place.
“I can’t make it fit this way,” he complained, “are you sure this is how it goes in?”
“Of course it is,” I replied, “I just took it out, do you think I wouldn’t remember…oh, wait a minute.” I turned my head to look at it upside down (hard to do when you are old.) “Maybe it does go in the other way.”
He flipped the shelf around, slipped it into place and snapped it down. Then he just sat there and looked at me.
“Isn’t the refrigerator looking good? I worked hard on it this afternoon,” I said. He was not distracted.
“You’re sure it was this afternoon?”
Even the dog (Roy’s dog) has joined the chorus of reminding me how old I am. The other day, I was jamming to the 70s on the radio, really dancing up a storm. Well, as much of a storm as I can create with bad knees, cranky ankles and poor balance. But I was having fun.
I twirled around once and happened to catch a look at the dog. She was sitting quietly, watching me, judging me. She looked so sorry for me that I could almost hear her say, “Your dancing days are over, Jammin’ Jackie. Hang it up and find your cane.”
So, maybe I am older than I think, but I don’t think I’m any older than I was when I graduated from high school. I think I should still be able to remember everything I did back then. That’s why I do the brain teasers and the crosswords and read copiously. It’s so that I will always…what was my point again?
dropsinthewell 