You’ve got to really feel for Mick Jagger. I mean, for over 50 years he’s been singing
“what a drag it is getting old.” That’s
a long time to be bummed. Although,
watching him these days I’m not sure he’s the go-to guy for empathy when it
comes to aging.
 |
| Beth, as she became, but not as she was. |
As for me, I’ve done a pretty good job of living in
denial of the inevitable. But lately
that mindset has been seriously undermined.
They say, “what you resist persists,” so I guess that’s why these days
it I’m being confronted with reminders of my advancing age at every turn. It also explains why for a while there I
could not for the life of me escape Ed Sheeran’s “The Shape of You.”
I think the first dent in my Peter Pan armor came two
years ago at a Hollywood Vampires concert.
(For those of you seriously un-hip fogies, that’s a cover band comprised
of Alice Cooper, Joe Perry and Johnny Depp.)
It had been an amazing evening, full of oldies and goldies. I was feeling pretty proud of myself for being
so full of fearless, youthful energy that I had not only attended the concert alone
but had driven myself the 20 miles to the venue even though it meant being out
past 10pm! So, when Alice came out for
an encore and performed “School’s Out,” I was immediately on my feet, dancing
and singing. Feeling every bit like the
16 year-old I was when the song was released on my last day of eleventh
grade. And I wasn’t alone. Everyone around me was dancing and singing,
too. My first thought was, “Wow, all
those old people sure look silly shouting ‘school’s out!’.” My second thought was, “Oh, fuck!”
I recovered.
However, lately, the reminders are coming faster and furiouser, and it’s
getting harder to ignore. These days it
is television that’s the primary offender.
Is it too much to ask for a 3-hour Hayes/Maddow/O’Donnell block uninterrupted
by not-at-all-subtle hints that the day is approaching when I’m going to need to
install a door in my bathtub? (Actually,
once upon a time, a six-year old me would have thought that was the coolest
thing ever.) And can we please repeal the
law that says a certain amount of ad time has to be sold to local businesses? I know I live in a city with a large senior population, but for Christ’s sake, you'd think the only local businesses are retirement communities where people less than a decade older than I am seem to be having the time
of their lives working out in a “fitness center” while fully dressed in street
clothes.
And while I’m on the subject of assisted living
facilities, can there possibly be a worse name for a service that helps you
find one than “A Place For Mom?” My mom
is gone. That means when someone on tv
starts talking about “mom,” they mean me!
You know what, Joan Lunden? I’ve
got a place I might suggest for you.
Okay, look. I
don’t have a solution to this really, really annoying fact of life. Acceptance is sporadic and not always easily
achieved. But I guess I’ll get
there. I never want to be a burden to my
kids and will do everything I can to spare them any painful decisions, like whether to install a roller coaster on my stairway (again, Beth-At-Six loves that idea),
or, you know, sending me off to Granny Acres.
I could launch into a discussion here about taking matters into my own
hands when the time comes, but that’s a topic for a different and hilarious post. But for now, I am going to live my life one
day at a time and pray that when the day comes that my children need to consult
each other about the best place to put mom, the options will either be on the
bookshelf or on the mantle… next to dad.
