I have found grace, but my reading glasses are still missing

Have you heard the saying, “this gettin’ old – it ain’t for sissies?” I heard that the first time when I was in my 30s and laughed. Now as I just hit another mile marker in my life, I am no longer laughing. And if I do laugh, I am usually trying to remember what I was laughing about. The solution for that is not to tell me long jokes or to encourage me when I start in – telling one.

I want to preface my remarks by saying that I do not minimize the seriousness of aging problems or those who have experienced difficulties in keeping up with the parade in the march of time. I merely point out with a spot or two of humor, what I am experiencing as I develop snow on the rooftop, although Paul said I die daily, I prefer to “dye” bimonthly. Not quite ready to part with the hair color God originally gave me. Throw me a bone of compassion you youngsters and to those of my generation in whom I’ve touched a nerve, simply say, “amen.”

From new technology to new medications, I am inundated with having to change. And even in my younger years, change never came easy. I don’t KNOW if it’s my age, but things are starting to speed by much faster and bang much louder and become much more complicated.

I feel like quoting Dorothy in Munchkin Land when I say, “My, people come and go so quickly here.”

Ironic, because the people you really love don’t seem to come around as much as you’d like and especially the kids who, like myself at their age, got busy with my own life.

I find myself at this age, kicking myself because I hadn’t bought stock in reading glasses when I was younger. There was an age when everything was clear and I was not tethered to an eye prosthetic, much less dealing with eye surgeries.

Then as suddenly as a weather change in North Carolina, it happened. Everyone yelled “SURPRISE” and I closed my eyes, blew out the candles on my cake, opened my eyes and I could no longer see the cake. It was OK though as everyone at the party brought gifts. Brown paper packages, tied up with strings, a pair of reading glasses now, one of my favorite things.

I am also buying in bulk and need to renew my COSTCO membership although I must drive an hour to get there. I have glasses in the car, I have glasses in the bathroom, I have glasses in the kitchen. A MUST have in every nook and cranny of every room, because going on safari for eyeglasses is an adventure every older adult fears.

I have drawn the line at putting them on a chain and hanging them around my neck, but believe me, it’s getting to that point. The kicker is all the pairs that are half broken, lying around my home that I have vowed to fix, but haven’t got around to it. And, I can’t find a micro screwdriver for the bow screw, and even if I did find one, I couldn’t see it to fix it. Are you supposed to toss or recycle?

And I know that must be the reason for wrinkles. They occur at that “tweener” period of a person’s life when they are still living in the denial that they actually need reading glasses. I’ve been there, done that, created the T-shirt and made no money from the sale thereof.

I walked around for about a decade in that state of blurriness. I call it my decade of denial. It was where I found myself squinting so hard that I popped blood vessels in my temples. At the end of that decade, I stood one day very close to the mirror to see and I noticed these amazing cracks in my face and wondered how THAT happened or if I fell on my head somewhere in my sleep.

OMG… I had to conceal those amazing ruts around my eyes. I. Had. An idea. Glasses. Damage done, lesson learned, problems solved. Perhaps it’s just one day coming to embrace the grace of an older age. The day when you quit fighting the urge to look like you’re 30 when you’re 60. I do know I’ve taken a jarring uppercut in this fight.

I noticed a cartoon the other day. It was a clip art cartoon of a woman who was following the packaging directions for the microwave dinner. 15 seconds later, she was taking the package out of the garbage and reading them again. Speaking for myself, I find myself taking those directions out of the garbage at least four times before I get to finally eat my scrumptious epicurean delight.

And it makes it even more of a challenge when you’ve misplaced your glasses between placing the meal into the oven and then digging through the trash for the instructions… or worse, not knowing what the packaging looked like. Try applying the instructions for soup to a macaroni and cheese dinner. It brings dining to a whole new level in the twilight of your life.

I’m sure I will continue this next week, but I doubt it. I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast this morning. Someone told me to buy ginkgo biloba. I followed their advice and purchased it but darned if I can remember where I put the bottle. I actually found it once, but couldn’t remember what I bought it for.

Oh, the vicious cycle of aging.

Mark DeLap is a journalist, photographer and the editor and general manager of the Bladen Journal. To email him, send a message to: mdelap@bladenjournal.com