My Old Friend

I had dinner recently with a very dear and long-time friend. We’re talking a decades-long friendship here. And even though she was married with two children and I was fresh out of Ohio State when we first met at Ross Labs, we both considered ourselves young and “happenin’.”

Incidentally, if you live in the central Ohio area, you’ll recognize that it was indeed a very long time ago seeing as how the place hasn’t been called “Ross Labs” in years. 

Plus, no one has used the term happenin’ to refer to themselves as being young and with it in, well, forever.  So clearly I’m dating myself.

Anyway. Karen and I used to be the unofficial party planners in our department at work and would find any and every excuse to gather a gang of coworkers together and go out.  Dancing was frequently involved, particularly if I held the decision-making reins.  We’re talkin’ back in the 80s – the big hair, lots of makeup, pointy-toed pumps and linebacker-worthy padded shoulder days. 

And, yes, I dare say…the good ol’ days.

Karen and I have maintained our friendship through many job changes over the years (both) and city moves (me). Through one divorce (hers) and many boyfriend break-ups (mine).  I helped her with preparations for her second wedding and she returned the favor much more recently and helped me with my first.   

So ours has been a friendship that has weathered the test of time and it’s one I cherish. There aren’t too many secrets we keep from one another, although we do seem to have lost touch a bit in recent years. We don’t call one another as often anymore, although I’m not sure we ever really did communicate much that way. But we do keep up through emails.

Once we realize it has been far too many months since our last get-together, we pin down a date and meet. This time it was at her house. I hadn’t seen their new kitchen remodel (started in 2014), or that they only have one Italian Greyhound these days and not two since they lost sweet Lulu last fall.

So we spent over three hours talking and laughing and catching up with one another. Heck, I talked so much I was surprised I didn‘t lose my voice.

But toward the end of our conversation we realized that a significant portion of our chat-fest was spent talking about health issues. Family health issues, our own health issues. 

We talked symptoms. We talked medications. We talked doctor visits. We talked supplements and vitamins and prescriptions. Oh my!

Yikes. When did we stop being The Young and the Restless and instead we turned into On Golden Pond? 

When did we become so freakin’ old??

I guess Father Time is funny like that.  Or sadistic. Yeah, I think I’ll go with the latter. Because instead of talking about the latest Gucci handbags or the newest movie releases, we suddenly found ourselves talking more about aging, elderly parent concerns and our own health issues.

Not once did we talk about books we’re reading, or the cute shoes she had on, or the gel nail polish I was wearing that doesn’t have to be cured with a light and comes off with regular nail polish remover. You know – “girl stuff.” 

On the other hand, there is something comforting in being able to talk so intimately with someone you’ve known a long time and whom you have trusted from the get-go. You know she won’t judge; she knows you won’t either. And it’s a relief to know you’re not the only one going through whatever it is you’re going through.

So I guess I need to acknowledge that a friendship that has managed to persevere through several decades is going to be a different one than when it first started.

But, like a cherished heirloom becomes more valuable once it’s considered an antique, so too does a cherished friendship like ours.

And, yes, I used the term “old friend” in the title on purpose. We finished our conversation feeling a bit old. But we promised ourselves that the next time we get together, we are going to table the health talk. 

So I’m thinking maybe we shouldn’t even ask each other the question, “How are you?” Yeah, that might be a good start.  Instead, I’m going to make a point of commenting on her cute shoes. 

And the word “orthopedic” will not be mentioned in that query.

Just kidding. She doesn’t wear orthopedic shoes. But she also doesn’t wear the sky high pointy-toed pumps anymore, either!

My orthopedic shoes, on the other hand… Oh, never mind. Didn’t I say we were tabling the health talk?!

I’ve Seen the Future and It Ain’t Pretty

Pardon me for taking such a long break between blogs. I’ve been busy aging. 

And let me tell you, it hasn’t been much fun.  My hand has started to permanently attach itself to my lower back whenever I get up from sitting too long.  And by “too long” I mean ten minutes, tops.  And that loud cracking sound? Yeah, that was my neck.  It does that sometimes.  Don’t let it scare you.

Worse yet, I think my internal thermostat is permanently broken.  Air conditioners, cold packs and ceiling fans have become my new best friends.  In our home, running out of ice is about as big a sin as it used to be to run out of chocolate.  Well, about once every 28 days or so, anyway.

To all my older friends: NOW I understand.  It’s your turn to snicker.  Go ahead, I deserve it.

The worst part of all of this is my vision.  I’m seein’ the future, and it ain’t pretty. 

Ha ha ha.  No, really, when I started that line, I was literally talking about my vision, but then I segued.  Probably I should’ve stuck with my actual vision as the other part is just plain depressing.

But back to my vision.  I’ve long since moved to bifocals – so that’s not the issue.  Lately I’ve been dealing with dry eyes and blurry vision by the end of the day.  Talk about a buzzkill.  I go home wanting to take a nap just to give my peepers a rest instead of going out and socializing and having fun.

Part of the problem, I’m convinced, is the ever-increasing demands we make on our eyes.  I’m completely guilty.  I wake up in the morning and the first thing I do is check my smart phone to see if it has gotten any smarter overnight.  And, okay, so I’m really just checking Facebook to see who was dealing with insomnia at 3 a.m. 

Besides me, of course.

And the rest of the day is no different. I stare at a computer all day long.  At lunchtime, instead of giving my eyes a break, I spend the time reading a book.  I’ve loved reading books ever since I sounded out the rhymes in Green Eggs and Ham all by myself.  Since it’s my story, let’s say I was reading Green Eggs and Ham as a 2-year-old.  (I want to pretend like I was a prodigy.)

 

But, anyway.  (See? Another problem. Lack of focus…)

For a while, I was reading books on my iPad, but that exacerbated the blurry vision problem so I went back to the old-fashioned kind I check out of the library.  And most of those books are in Large Print so I don’t have to squint too much. 

Plus, I’ve permanently changed the font size on my iPhone to 24 point.  Could I feel any older or more pathetic?  Well, yeah.  After all, there are several larger font sizes to go – all the way up to 56 point type. I should just turn in my iPhone when that day comes. I mean, do you know how big 56 point type is? That’s like one word per line. 

We might as well tattoo “Fossil” on my forehead and be done with it.

But, seriously.  Things like basic grooming are becoming more of a challenge.  Like, for example, I try to flat iron my hair – and my hand develops a cramp before I’ve even finished one side.  I try to tweeze those weird hairs that have begun sprouting on my chinny-chin-chin – but I can’t see them. I have to go by feel, which is sometimes a lesson in futility. And I have even once or twice left the house without applying makeup – gasp!  I know. Shocking, right? But I figure no one is looking at me anyway, so why bother?

Admittedly, these are not good signs. At this rate, I’ll soon be sporting a short, white poodle perm, wearing big tennis shoes with Velcro tabs, and younger folk are going to be tempted to braid the facial hair I’ll have given up trying to remove.

A few weeks ago I was visiting with a friend and during the course of the conversation I brought up my age. However, I inadvertently subtracted ten years. Temporary insanity?  Perhaps.  But I never realized anything was amiss until she shot me a look of utter disbelief.  When she called me on it, I said, “What age did I say I was?” I seriously had no clue.  It’s not like I was trying to lie to her. After all, she’s three months younger than I am, and I have a rule against lying to anyone who was born in the same year I was. I figure they are pretty much able to do the math. 

So it appears I’m now at the age where I really can’t remember how old I am.  That may be cute when you’re 3. Not so much when you’re getting solicitations in the mail from the AARP.

While I sometimes miss the vigor of youth, I am not planning to give in to old age either.  I mean, I’ve seen some seniors give up – they sit in their rockers and wait for people to visit and make their meals and take care of them.  Their lives can get very small.  But I’ve also known people who have traveled and socialized and enjoyed life well into their 80s and beyond. 

The latter scenario sounds way more fun.

Now I’m not discounting real physical illnesses can preclude traveling and socializing and, frankly, enjoying life.  So it’s not like I’m disparaging anyone here. “There but for the grace of God…” and all that.

But even though I know that age is catching up with me, I feel like I have a way to go before I’m ready for Assisted Living.  And I’m still young enough to want to know what the next chapter in this life brings. After all, you know what “they” say: getting older is better than the alternative. 

So to celebrate life, I may re-read some of those books that Jane, the child prodigy, read at age 2. (Yep, still my story…) 

Hey, I wonder if Green Eggs and Ham comes in Large Print?