Tag: aging

this is getting old

review Susan Moon’s book this is getting old
I have no idea what the hat was about.

I’ve been reading this is getting old: Zen thoughts on Aging with Humor and Dignity by Susan Moon. Let me start by saying that I found it a great read for people like me who have passed sixty years of age. I’d also recommend it to people whose mothers and grandmothers have reached that age—or older of course.

I experienced jolts of familiarity throughout the book, especially in Moon’s chapter entitled “The Tomboy Returns.” I grew up on my grandfather’s farm where my sister and I climbed trees, waded mud puddles, rescued naked baby mice, and played horse and rider. (I was the horse.)

Then we grew breasts and got periods. Unlike Ms. Moon, we operated ‘business as usual” and our families treated us the same, although we had to wear dresses to school. At school, I did pay for my rough curiosity, though, when I myself wanted to be seen as feminine—and the tree climbing had nothing to do with it. Back then, girls weren’t supposed to be smart, to raise their hands and answer questions in class. No dates for me.

At work the rule was that we had to wear skirts and nylon stockings. When challenged once, coming back in from the field, I remarked that I would wear them in the field when the challenger allowed me to watch him clamber through native prairie grasses or change a tire in a dress and stockings.

But back to Ms. Moon’s book and the tomboy. Her point was to recommend we return to some of our tomboy ways as we retire and have more time. She suggested that we can resurrect the spirit of those children although our bodies may not do all our younger ones could.

Most of her book counseled acceptance of our limitations while taking care of ourselves in order to reduce our limitations and lengthen the time we don’t have them.

Again, I recommend this book, not only to those of us who are aging, but also to the people who love us. Often those loved ones’ assumptions about aging hurt the worst.

Scale

I’ve got a couple of story ideas for when I finish revising the last novel of my trilogy—the second is due to release the first week in November. One’s about a woman who drives a truck (semi-tractor/trailer coast to coast) and another about a woman who checks herself in to an inpatient mental institution to escape a brutal husband. I’ve written short stories about both. But as I age, this woman tugs harder and harder on my thoughts.

So here’s how I’m meeting this week’s GirlieOnTheEdge blog challenge prompt. The word is scale.

She stepped on the scale and groaned—she’d just checked the zero balance and knew it was accurate.

When did her body go to hell?

She’d never needed to diet and she got plenty of exercise in her job—the camping, swimming, and canoeing didn’t hurt either. But then sometime in her late fifties and early sixties, her metabolism changed and it seemed like she could look at a dish of ice cream and gain a pound. Not spectacular, but annoyingly inexorable, the weight gain joined a host of aging signs, all of them familiar—graying hair, thin skin (there really is such a thing), stiff joints—she felt vaguely depressed.

But the symptom that really fried her bacon was the way people called her honey or patiently explained stuff she already knew rather than answering her question—and ignored any idea she presented as if she weren’t even in the room.

A Yellow Tent

Here’s another Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge. Ninety-nine words, no more, no less.

It was the yellow tent that did it. I hadn’t camped in years, hadn’t taken out the canoe, hadn’t even jumped in a swimming pool. When I went into Scheels for hand weights (gotta keep up my strength), it was in the next aisle. It looked so bright and lovely. I would ignore the aches in my joints and brave the wilds. Like my dad, I only needed a ring of bologna and a loaf of bread—and I’d make concessions to my years. In my yellow tent I would have my turquoise sleeping bag and an air mattress.