Old Age and Me

Getting old was something that I thought always happened only to other people. Every now and then I ‘d run into someone my age I had not seen in awhile and I would have spasms of shock as I looked upon their growing number of wrinkles, expanding waistline, and greying hair.  I could not even imagine that happening to me. Apparently, there were no mirrors in my house.

But the signs have become clearer to me that I’ve entered the short side of the tunnel and have more days behind me than I have ahead. No big problem, as the world has become a sort of crazy place without much allure. A nut as president of the United States, racists and bigots ascending, and America under threat of nuclear attack…and even worse, the possibility of William Bell being re-elected mayor of Birmingham! But it’s not these things that are bothering me so much on a daily basis. It’s the little things that confirm that the bloom is off the rose and that I’m old and getting older.

First, there is the waking up at 4 am. (and going to bed at 9). And though I have seen the same infomercial from Inspiration Ministries for the last four years, I still tune in at 4 to see if Rev. Mike Murdock has finished counting his blessings which include 100 Rolex watches and unlimited cash. Having seen the same sermon about 1200 times I almost believe that those who are obedient and rush to the phone to pledge $58 a month for the rest of their lives will get similar financial returns for their investment. I’ve never seen one sign that they have any sort of active ministry that involves Jesus or another deity,  other than the fact that the head of the organization and his wife did once take a trip to the Holy Land. I sent off to the “Ministry” to get their annual financial report required by the IRS and found that they raked in over $97 million last year.  So there definitely a lot of obedience going on by someone with a credit card. I never made my pledge of “seed money”, despite the promises that I’d get lots more money back, but I did call their hotline once to request prayer. They put me on hold and I fell asleep. It was 4 am after all.

Aside from the usual decline in hearing where I am constantly saying “excuse me” to people to get them to repeat a sentence, I now have had a few indications that my eyesight may not be as acute as it once was. This morning as I was getting dressed, I tried to scrape off what I thought was a food stain on my shirt. Turned out it was just that pony logo on my Polo shirt. And then on a regular basis I keep putting my boxer shorts on backwards. Aside for the awkward tight fit that I attributed to weight gain, another clue that something was seriously  wrong was when I had to use the bathroom and could not find the hole. It was a sort of an X-rated version of that Clorox ad where the kid can’t unbuckle his pants and yells for his mother that “I think we have a situation”. OK, one situation is a fluke, three is a pattern. I solved the problem by designing my own underwear. It has holes in the front and back. I’m trying to get a patent, but it’s a long process and I may not live to see them in production. So I bought myself a sewing machine and am shopping for absorbent fabric in case things still go wrong. Does anyone know someone who could market them? I’m thinking Bob Dole now that Hugh Hefner is gone.

And there are some economic consequences for getting old. I was looking for my drill to hang one of my paintings (all old people take up painting; i.e. George W. Bush) and could not find it anywhere in my apartment where everything used to be in place. After wracking my brain and re-tracing my steps, it dawned on me that the trash I had tossed down the shoot the day before had been unusually heavy. So I rummaged through the dumpster and finally gave up when the indignity of it all surpassed my tolerance for the smell. I also accidently threw away my Harvard ring once. I solved that problem by supergluing it to my finger.

I got a new phone case last year and tossed the old one, only to realize I had forgotten there was a pouch on the back of it holding my credit card and senior pass for the subway. Luckily I was able to replace both with only a couple of hours of waiting time on the phone and in line at the MBTA (mass transit office). Then last week, I got a new phone and decided I would do the grandfatherly thing and send the old one to my previous grand godchildren to play with. Only after the package was in the mail, did I remember that this phone also had a pouch and, yes, it held my replacement senior pass. No matter, the picture on it only reminds me of exactly how old I am and it was taken several years ago.

I hear there are man ways to maintain one’s youth, like exercising and diet, but I like taking the easy way. So before my last birthday, my 70th,  I renewed my driver’s license online. That way, they had to use the picture I used when I first had it issued in Massachusetts in 2012. You’d be surprised how much younger you’ll look when you take five years off your id pictures. I also watch Jeopardy every night to keep my mind agile. It’s working relatively well. I can tell you who invented the electron microscope or wrote Exodus, and where the Alhambra is,  but can’t tell you what I had for breakfast three hours ago.  Not that I’ve fine-tuned my mind, I plan to start working on my body… next year.

But the biggest problem is that I have no longer have a tolerance for idiots and stupidity. Now it’s acceptable in children and the mentally challenged, but for educated adults to say and do stupid things, really annoys me. I was at Costco last week to see if Depends were cheaper if you buy them in bulk when a guy in one of those monster carts they make you use, tried to pass me in the dried fruit (prunes) section. He sideswiped the flower stand where they keep five gallon buckets of loose flowers in water and knocked it over. There were mums and gladiolas all over the place and enough water on which to sail toy boats. But mostly there was embarrassment. So who got the blame? Not the reckless cart driver, but the old guy that was lingering too long in the fruit aisle. It was bad enough that he yelled at me for failing to properly yield, but I did think having my Costco card revoked for cause was especially humiliating. No problem. I’ve joined Sam’s Club and plan to buy only what I can carry in my arms.

Other than Social Security and Medicare, the best part of being old is discounts at the Goodwill and other associated places that seem to attract old people. Instead of Saks Fifth Avenue and Neiman’s I now have labels on my clothes that say “Please return to ” fill in address”. But where else can you get a practically new shirt, albeit from 1952, for $4.99 less 25% on Tuesdays? Someone probably kept it in their closet for years before realizing some old person might like it and it was worth more as a tax donation. I keep buying things there and at other thrift stores that people I give them to don’t like or want. But they tolerate it thinking that when I die there will be some hoard of treasures I have secreted away that will be more valuable than the junk I give them. Maybe,  but they’ll have to wait and see.

Yes, I’m old, but apparently not as old as I’m going to get. You’ll probably hear about it when I stop aging.  But that’s another thing. Anyone remember when there were actually newspapers that carried obituaries? Birmingham used to have two and I would look forward to reading the Post Herald every morning to see if any of my political enemies were gone. Now I look online to make certain I’m still alive. I know it will be there as it every other aspect of my life, indelibly etched in history in kilobytes.

I’ve found the easiest way to check someone’s mortality is to look on Facebook with  hopes that someone will have it on good authority through a FB friend of a friend that so and so passed. In the meantime, it’s good place for old people to pass time doing annoying posts. So keep checking on me.