Getting By

Today in the grocery store, I felt a twinge of sadness as I passed an elderly couple.  A small stooped over woman pushed the cart.  She was clearly in charge of the shopping expedition.  A thin man with a dazed expression walked along behind her.  She had tied a rope onto the cart, and he was clinging to the rope.  I have often seen a group of preschool children out for a walk hanging on to a rope to keep them together.  I have never seen this used for an elderly person before.

I suspect that she is mentally alert, and he is not.  He probably wanders off, so having him hold the rope is her way of being able to concentrate on her purchases and not lose him.  On the one hand, you have to admire her resourcefulness and independence.  On the other, life must be a struggle for her.  Although frail herself, she is the care-giver.  He is oblivious to her needs and even to his own.

I found myself hoping that they have someone who pays attention to them…checks up on them…someone who would be aware if her physical frailty got to the point of making her unable to compensate for his mental frailty.

I had a great-aunt and uncle who found themselves in similar straits.  He was weak physically but mentally alert.  She was developing increasing dementia, but seemed physically stronger.  They had no children to watch out for them.  Each one confided in my mother that they were hanging on in order to take care of the other.  My mother did not live near them and worried about them.  They died within 24 hours of each other.

I came home and told my husband about the couple in the grocery store.  We laughed picturing ourselves in those roles.  We agreed that if he ran off, I would never be able to catch him, so a rope just might be necessary. 

Something to look forward to…..

Beach Bodies...NOT!

While visiting my daughter in Florida last week, we went to the beach.  I sat there next to the sand castle watching my granddaughters play gleefully.  I also watched the people strolling by.

I read someplace that once a woman is 40 she shouldn’t worry about how she looks in a swimming suit, because the only people looking at her are other women over 40 who are making comparisons.  Personally, I was pondering how I compared to other women over 60 and decided that those of us who even dare to wear a bathing suit, all look alike.

First of all, we have no buttocks.  The fat deposits that once gave us nice little round tushies have either been overcome by gravity and slumped into our upper legs or have run around to the front and deposited in our tummies.  A little round tummy isn’t nearly as attractive as a little round tushy, but that is what we now have.

The next characteristic is somewhat dependent on size to begin with, but everyone’s boobs sag.  No amount of underwire or wide straps prevents the downward pull.  The bigger they are to start with, the lower they hang.  Attempting to overcome this by tightening the straps, results in major creases in the shoulders.

If either osteoporosis or poor posture has caused some back curvature, the boobs and belly meld into a shapeless mass on the front of the body.  There is probably still a waist under there someplace, but it has disappeared inside the amorphous frontal lump.

Meanwhile those sweet young things, who are still in their prime, strut their stuff oblivious to what awaits them. 

I noticed several people watching me with amused expressions.  Where they laughing at my beach body, or had they never seen an old lady make a sand castle before?

Last Man Standing

We just returned from the National Senior Games in Cleveland.  My husband participated in the 5K and 10K runs and came home with one ribbon and one medal for his age group.  My husband has been a runner since junior high, but not so with all of the participants.  One of the fascinating things about the Senior Games is that some of these people were not athletes in their youth and have come late (very late) to the notion of physical exercise being beneficial and rewarding.

The day before the 5K, which was held at the Cleveland Zoo, we were walking the race route to get a feel for the course and fell into conversation with another couple who were doing the same thing.  The wife of the participant told me that her husband had had two heart attacks, and that his whole family was overweight.  He had taken up running after the second heart attack and had lost 80 pounds during the past year.  He was now more or less obsessed with exercise and diet to the point that she had gone off to their second home in Florida to get a break from it.  She commented that she no longer enjoyed eating since he had put himself, and her, on a restrictive diet.  She, by the way, did not need to lose weight.

The dear lady couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the strange world that runners retreat into prior to a race.  There is no other topic worthy of conversation.  Everything revolves around and is focused on “the race.”  As the wife of a long-time runner, I assured her that this was “normal,” and that a week later she should expect the whole race to be relived.  He will be making remarks like…”A week ago right now I was_______.”  He may be wearing his medal under his shirt and pulling it out to be admired by anyone who mentions “the race.”

The first eight runners in each age group were recognized.  Places 8 through 4 received ribbons, while 3, 2 and 1 got bronze, silver and gold medals.  At the awards ceremony, it was interesting that as the older age group results were read, sometimes there were not as many as 8 participants to be recognized.  In fact, in the 10 K, age 85-89, there was only one male participant, who automatically received the gold. 

After about age 85, the participants, both male and female find it difficult to step up and down from the podium.  They may be able to run/walk a 5 or 10 K, but the little step up to the podium becomes a barrier, and they need to steady themselves by holding on to someone to make that step up.

As each age group is called forward, one can’t help but notice the increasing frailty, fewer participants and slower recovery time.  As hard as we try to take good care of our bodies, eventually they deteriorate.  Something breaks or wears out.  We may be able to put off the inevitable for a time, but no one lives forever.  There were no participants 95 or over.

But…if you live long enough and can still show up and put one foot ahead of the other, you might just win the gold!

Walking into the Wind

I checked the weather radar online when I got up this morning, and decided I could get in a walk between the forecasted rain showers. The day is cool and very windy, but I started out under blue skies with clouds in the distance.


Autumn is my favorite season.  I love the leaf colors...brilliant reds, oranges and yellows contrasted with dark evergreens.  I love the aroma of rain-soaked leaves and the sound of my feet swishing through them.  Although I try to push myself and keep up a brisk pace, I find myself distracted by the sights and sounds, and I lose focus on the intent to exercise.  Many homes in my area have lovely fall decorations or rather tawdry Halloween-y ones.  No matter, I enjoy the plastic pumpkins as much as the huge hardy mums.  


Over halfway through the 3 miles, I was greeted and passed by a young woman...probably half my age.  She strode by and left me in her dust.  I sighed, wishing I could keep up.  As I rounded a corner, she was still in sight.  I heard feet behind me.  Along came a jogging teenage girl...probably half the age of the young woman.  They were both still in sight when the teenager blew by the young woman.  I chuckled to myself.


I had an aunt who said to me once, "Youth is always beautiful."  I was young at the time and didn't quite understand.  Of course, I have also heard it said that "youth is wasted on the young."  


The last block home is uphill, and this morning, I was walking into a headwind. I wondered how much of a wind it would take to stop me in my tracks. I mused that I am also walking into the headwind of age.  Eventually that will stop me in my tracks, I suppose.  Meantime, I will enjoy the wind, the colors, the aromas, the sounds, and I will smile at those with the strength and energy of youth who leave me in their wake.

Only So Much Time

I have in a previous blog referred to my 91 year-old uncle as the most stubborn man on the planet.  This may actually be the truth. Over the past few weeks, he has been in declining health.  During a recent phone call to him, I became concerned that he wasn't eating and seemed weak.  I had no idea how bad it was, because I live over 3 hours away by car. He has no children, and I am his only niece.  He has 4 nephews, but I am closest to him, and I am not close enough.


Last week I received a call that he had been hospitalized.  He lives in a residence with all levels of care, so assisted living was available to him.  However, he continued to try to manage on his own in his independent living apartment until he could no longer make it to the kitchen at all, and eventually could not even crawl to the bathroom.  He could have arranged for help with meals and personal care long before things deteriorated to this extent.  I suppose that the frailty sneaked up on him.  Each day he probably told himself that he would feel better the next day.  And then, there is the fact that he is stubborn.


My husband and I traveled to see him.  After visiting at the hospital, we went to the apartment.  I was shocked at its condition.  He is a life-long bachelor, who has always kept his living quarters neat and clean.  I am not going to describe everything I found, but I spent hours washing dirty clothing and bed linens, cleaning the kitchen, and removing spoiled food from the refrigerator.  I did not have time on this trip to tend to the stacks of mail and newspapers.


In the car on the way home, I reflected on the fact that he is 25 years to the month older than I am.  What will I be like in 25 years?  Will I still be here in 25 years?  Will I be able to care for myself?  For my home?  When one is young, 25 years seems like a long time.  Now...hmmm....not so much. 


I picked up my knitting and began knitting furiously while my husband drove.  He said, "I'm surprised you are knitting.  You seemed so tired."


I replied, "I've got to get busy and be productive.  I may only have 25 years left!"