Getting Old is Weird

See this moose on the right with the dewlaps? Does she wonder where they came from? I look at the thin and wrinkled skin on my toned upper arms that somehow appeared when I wasn't looking and I was out somewhere inhabiting a ten year old soul that will always be mine.

Just recently I read an excellent novel, "Emily, Alone" by Stewart Onan about an eighty year old widow, ten years older than me, getting by in a life well-lived and it was frighteningly familiar. Am I on this exact track? Onan so accurately describes the small routines and anxieties I get a whiff of. The woman does her crossword puzzles, talks to her dog, worries about her children and grandchildren, and sees the last remnants of her neighborhood as she knew it being sold house by house as the inhabitants die and she remembers the old times when all the kids played outside and the parents had potlucks and drank too many martinis.

This wasn't us, but there are some close parallels. We came of age as parents and citizens in the late sixties and seventies. We didn't want to be like our parents, but we knew that we would be more prosperous than they were. This is certainly not happening now; expectations have changed.

But what is still true is that there is still a disconnect between generations. Unlike the Onan protagonist, we have come not to expect anything from our children and grandchildren. We don't expect them to be interested in our lives. We love them and have majorly supported them as they have gone forth in their lives. This is our joy.

We have never wanted them to come on demand for requisite family holidays. Way too stressful! We welcome them whenever they can come, and to be honest, we kind of keep track when it has been months or even a year since they came to visit.

Long ago when it was obvious that our nuclear family all lived thousands of miles from each other, we embedded with local friends who have become our family. More than ten years ago, my friend Maria and I "adopted" each other as sisters. Maria and her husband Jay, my brother-in-law are just family now. Local sisters that we are, we can ask anything of each other. Jay and Maria are absolutely as important in our grandson's life as we are. The Auntie and Uncle Jay.

We all live so far from each other and we all have busy lives. Such a truism. You never know how things will turn out. Our daughter bought a lovely urban house and we renovated a garage out in back to be our pied a terre when we are in the city. Turns out that we love being there- but only for a short time. After 24 hours I long to be back home on the ranch where I can stretch out and be me.

I love being close to my youngest grandson. Often he comes to visit at the ranch. He has his own room and a playroom and knows every nook and cranny here, every book on the shelf. He's now driving the funky golf cart (while I grip the side). He doesn't notice my wrinkles and we can be kids together. Who else but a six year old kid could join his seventy year old grandma in the daily workout with weights? See my bruises.

I wish I could see more of the other grand kids. The upstairs playroom just gets more complicated and full of toys and books. We haven't removed the baby gate yet.

But, being weird as an old person, you just have to take it as it comes.

Being old is great. Time to do the generative things, volunteer in the community, have those small routines, belly laugh with a six year old. But I still hate those wattles and wrinkles!