getting old

It’s beginning to look geriatric, every where you turn…

Posted on by miriambarrie

Yes, we are getting geriatric altogether, me, my husband, and our house. We just installed a floor-to-ceiling pole. Not for me to dance on, although one day if I get dementia, I just may. It’s so that my husband can grab onto it in order to get in and out of bed. He is suffering, according to the doctors, from the condition called “deconditioning,” which means his muscles are weak.

When we looked at recliners, we skipped over the ones that catapult you across the room. Sure, it would be easier for my husband but the goal is to strengthen, not weaken the already weakened muscles.

We just ordered a lift assist, a device that is supposed to help me help my husband to lift himself when he gets stuck in a chair.

My husband’s occupational therapist comes up with all these gadgets and devices, devices that make me realize that he is not the only one who needs assistance, that he is not the only one aging.

My pillbox that now occupies our dining room table reminds me that he is not aging alone and all these devices that now reside in my house, are a constant reminder that we are getting old altogether.

Singing along with Neil Sedaka

Posted on by miriambarrie

It is the next morning and we have to check out.  We book in an overnight for my upcoming birthday. We are going to see Motown.

Last year, for my husband’s birthday, we saw Neil Sedaka perform at the Old Westbury Music Fair. Neil Sedaka looked pretty agile for a man his age, as he shuffled on stage for a full seven minutes before he was too winded to go on.  He sang “Calendar Girl” and we went wild.  He sang “Oh, Carole,” and we went wild.  He sang “I Miss the Hungry Years” and we sighed. 

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After intermission, he started to sing his new songs from his new album.  They were extremely poignant songs about aging. We couldn’t exit the place fast enough.  And as we dashed out, I looked over my shoulder.  I did not see anyone standing on line to purchase his new cd.  

But I, too,  am obsessed with aging. It is all I think about.  It was only a split second ago that I had worked two jobs, three if you count the summer, gutted my house, ripped out every blade of grass from my front lawn with my own bare hands, planted perennials and laid slate stepping stones after watching an episode of Curb Appeal on HGTV. I am in a state of shock.  I do not understand how and when this happened to me.  I cannot engage anyone to talk about it.  So I am blogging about it.  And this way you can pretend you don’t peek.