Bells and Whistles

Those of us 'in the club', now enjoy a musical concert without even buying a ticket.  Think about it, the beep of the microwave, the bell on your timer, the repetitive tune of your smartphone demanding you pick it up. The ping you have a message, the pong of breaking news, and the music goes on. That’s just for starters.  You have battery alarms in your ears, fire alarms that go off on a whim, doorbells, at your door, or on the tv, or in your head.  We go through our days with unnamed melodies and smart is the one who can distinguish one from the other.

Case in point,  I just got my new hearing aids and was happy to finally drive to the grocery store; deaf no more. Suddenly there was an alarm in my car.  I saw no lights on the dashboard, but  the noise was incessant.  I looked at my phone; silent, I looked for a warning light; absent, The tension was mounting. I pulled the car over, unsnapped my seat belt to yet another melody, all the time worried the engine might explode.  With the motor off, I suddenly heard a tiny little voice in my ear say, ‘battery low”. It was an aha moment.  Life in the club is full of them.

An Anatomy Lesson

If you didn't like or even take anatomy in school, I'll bet your being schooled now. You are learning about every little joint and bone that has made it's presence felt. You are spending more and more time on Web M.D. and becoming a semi professional on the ailments that assault us in 'The Club'! From twangs to pangs, from limps to slips, from gait to weight, your learning it all. I remember that song my dad used to sing: “and the hip bone is connected to the knee bone and ***”. I wish I had paid closer attention since all my bones are screaming daily. I never really wanted to know what lay beneath that vast covering called skin. It was what you don't see is fine with me. Well now through the advent of x-rays, cat scans and the likes I'm seeing, and it ain't pretty. I long for the days when the doctor took care of business and didn't list the risks involved. You just trusted him or her and went on your merry way. Now I am sure there are many who disagree and want to know all the facts to make an informed decision. I am not one of them. I like the bubble I'm in and prefer to stay in it.  Unfortunately my body keeps telling me to "Pay Attention:. Bah humbug.!

Are we there yet?

Remember back when relatives and family friends were in close proximity and mom and dad would  pile us in the car to go visit.  If uncle or aunty lived more than two miles down the road our voices would roll out in unison, "Are we there yet?"  At the same time, depending on the crew, there were many "bathroom stops" and complaints of being thirsty.  Obviously that was a ploy for a stop for refreshments.
Well God bless our parents because they put up with it. Fast forward to those of us in "The Club". Our trips are loaded with bathroom stops, nobody lives close any more and when our children or grandchildren chauffeur us they are hearing the refrain of the same song many years ago.  Now many of  us have to fly somewhere to see our children and grandchildren. We have to maneuver the road of e-tickets, long lines at the airports,  partially disrobing as we clear security, admitting to any body part replacements, and walking at a slower pace than those behind us. We secure our seats on the place, fasten our seat belts, look out the window, read the airline magazine, use the bathroom, look at our watch, and alas when the airline stewardess comes by we ask the inevitable question, "Are we there yet?"

One Last Try

I have been blessed or maybe not, by a man who never gives up on a broken object. As long back as my memories go he dedicates himself to repair the repairable, rescue the refuse, patch the pathetic, remake, remold, and reincarnate. Think of all the money he saves, you say. Ha, think again. Add to this equation that he too, is in the 70's Club. How many trips to Lowe's and Home Depot, how many return trip to Lowe's and Home Depot, does it take to make the solution more expensive than the object being repaired? If I am whining, your right. This is a time when I prefer to pay for the privilege of repair men, or new appliances. Let the young whipper snappers take up the torch. Instead I am tortured. He still thinks he is the young whipper snapper. I look for the humor in this. He is saving money for my old age, but I am already old. He gets satisfaction out of a job well done. Who says it's well done. If you have a handy dandy living with you let's start another club; You name it.

Gotcha!

Here we are; two old fuddy duddies, rambling around the house attending to our chores. Something has changed. An unspoken competition has developed and it's going strong. The man who was always chastising me for my longstanding forgetfulness has now joined the ranks, and I am delighted. Here is how it goes;  "Honey, are you warming the kitchen?", he says, as he watches the flame on the gas stove heating nothing.  Not to be undone I notice that the faucet is running in the bathroom, long after he has had his shave. "Honey", I demur, "are you planning to wash something in the sink?" The gotchas go one all day and there are plenty of them.

Now that we spend a lot of time together there are those little annoying habits that come to the surface. One such habit is my leaving toast crumbs on the counter. After 50 years of living with this man I know when he has me, like when he says "Honey, were you thinking about getting a little bird?" Although my wit has never been as sharp as his I had a good one yesterday. When I noticed the fly in his pajamas was in the back, I asked, very sweetly, "Honey, have you had an anatomy change?"

Life would be dull now, but we have the delight of all those gotcha moments.

Funny is as funny thinks!

Have you ever noticed how doctors are getting younger, print is getting smaller, people are talking softer? Welcome to the 70’s Club. We might be diverse in our interests, politics and religions, but we have an abundance of similarity in navigating the term called “old age”. In some ways every day is an adventure, and we don’t even have to leave our house.

If you have a sense of humor you are in for a joyful ride. If you don’t, brace yourself for some sobriety that will make you want to drink.

It was a fine sunny day when I finally got me hearing aids. I placed the tiny little buggers in my ears after I placed a battery about as big as period in the slot; a feat in itself. When I opened the front door I heard the birds singing. What an auspicious beginning. The day progressed but my husband seemed to be yelling at me all the time. I think he needs to invest in hearing aids. Don’t people who are hard of hearing talk loud? I heard things I had not hear in a long time. The sound of my pee in the toilet, the voluminous snores of my husband taking a nap, the roar of the cars zooming by my front door, all delivered to my delicate ears of 70 years plus.

A few days later I was in the car going to a doctor’s appointment, (what else), when the car started making a beeping sound. I frantically looked at the dashboard for any warning lights, to no avail. The beeping continued so I turned off all the knobs and buttons. The beeping continued. I wondered if I was putting my life in danger by continuing to drive. I stopped the car. The beeping continued. Finally an aha moment. The batteries in my hearing aids were dying. Everyday there is a new puzzle to solve. Welcome to the 70’s Club.

Now we are in the 70's County Club!

If you grew up in the late 40's or 50's, you are now officially in the 70's Country Club. Ah, a country club in it's own right. If we made it this far we deserve to be highly admired. You have paid your dues, you have walked the course, you have putted, and pounced, and now you can sit. Legally sit; in a golf cart or overstuffed chair, but legally sit!
Now the real state of affairs. Yes your food bill is way down, but your medicines expenditures have taken wings. You don't bother with life time guarantees on your new purchases.  You hold no grudges because you can't remember them. Your dating the medical community, but you get senior discounts. Yes we are a privileged class, so enjoy every moment as I share with you how we traverse the uncharted territory with aplomb and savvy as only one of our experience could.  We all have stories and I am going to share some of mine. I hope you will share yours too in the feedback section.

Hurricane Irma; a dutiful son and his wife, my husband and I, sheltered in his home with the generator running. Their four dogs cherry picking the most comfortable chairs, while their barks fill the air with a cacophony of sound that was far from a Schubert symphony. A big screen TV with more choices than the penny candy store of my youth. Three remotes, and surround sound too. High tech everywhere we turned. No off and on switches in this house. I'm already missing my big blue chair.
The morning after the high winds I woke up very early as I usually do. The whole house was in slumber, including the dogs. Routines, don't we love our routines? Make the coffee, sit in my chair, write in my journal. I tiptoed to the kitchen to make the liquid brew and saw the contraption sitting smugly on the counter. It was a coffee machine, however it also made cappuccino, espresso, and who knows what else. All of this was depicted in pictures. I measured out some water and when I started to pour there were no ounces listed, just pictures; a carafe, a half carafe, a tall cup, a small cup. Mmmm.
I thought I'd go for the half carafe. Now time to add the coffee. The beans had to be ground. Another machine. No on and off switches here like at home. A dial, a funnel, and a shoot. Ok, go with the flow. I found the coffee measure but it wasn't in tablespoons, it was a picture with the number 2-3. Does that mean 2-3 measures per cup, or one measure for every 2-3 cups or  - - -. I didn't quit, I said a prayer and went for broke. The coffee, to my amazement, was half way decent. Now to turn on the morning news. That's another story. Just remember 3 remotes and you will get the idea. How I love my home, my routine, my simple existence.