aging

The First Wives’ Club

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As most of you know, I’m a card-carrying member of this organization, and I know all the words to You Don’t Own Me, even though I can’t sing like Lesley Gore. When Diane Keaton died last week, social media was awash with the movie clip of she, Bette Midler, and Goldie Hawn’s exit to that song.

The First Wives’ Club premiered in 1996; I was 48, Diane and Bette, 50, and Goldie, 51 years old. Even after all the years have passed the movie remains a vivid memory and makes me smile as I remember Elise’s (Goldie) bulging, botoxed lips, Brenda’s (Bette) quick wit, and Annie’s (Diane) takeover of her husband’s fortune. What surprised me the most about Keaton’s final pictures was how old she looked. Then I saw photos of Bette and Goldie; hell, Bette even has grey hair! How can that be? Where has the time gone? And the most recent photos of Robert Redford before his death–ye Gods! What happened to the Sundance Kid?

Little did I know I was in for the ultimate shock; I looked in the bathroom mirror. OMG! Who’s that ancient creature staring at me? Even Maleficent looks better than me! Oblah dee, oblah da….

Just Do IT!

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Aging is an interesting process. One minute I’m sitting on the floor coloring with my grandchild, and the next minute I can’t get up off the floor without pulling myself up on the coffee table or sofa. And even though I think I can, quite often I discover I can’t. My life has changed from coulds to don’t you dares.

Last last week I made a really, stupid mistake. My thirty+ year-old kitchen chairs needed to be replaced, so I ordered four new modern ones. I loved their design, their price, and the free delivery–so much so that I even gave away the old ones before the new ones arrived. With great anticipation, I awaited unpacking the trendy ones and enjoying their sight at my table.

Much to my horror, two, thin flat boxes arrived. WTH? I opened the first one and gasped! Parts, screws, washers! I KNEW I’d ordered assembled ones. I strode to my office, turned on my computer, checked my order. Damn! “Assembly required.” No wonder, it was such a great deal. Now what? Send them back? I’d already destroyed the box and its packing. Send back the unopened box? What good are two chairs when I need four? I can’t deal with this.

I wrestled with myself about this dilemma I had created for several days, until I decided to just do it. After several sputters and starts, I put the chairs together. Thankfully, my general contractor guy came by and graciously checked my assembly and tightened every bolt and screw.

And the moral of my blog? Next time, read the fine print: assembly required. Tomorrow I have an appointment with the eye doctor.

Life Is What I Make of It

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I’m a seventy-six. Ye Gods! I never thought I’d be that old, but I even have friends who have also achieved that milestone. Thankfully, in my mind, I think I’m thirty, while my humor suggests I’m twelve–even though, my body feels it has barely survived WW I.

Though not a philosopher, I’ve learned a lot through the process of aging–it’s what I make of it. And believe me, I made lots of it this week. Now, as to not bore you to death, with my play by play nonsense, I must share my most daring feat. A young friend of mine, Katie, occasionally sings with a band. Though she’s had no formal training, she performs Landslide, as well as Stevie Nicks. On Thursday, she texted me: I’m singing the second set tomorrow night. Should start between 9 and 9:30.

I was in a quandary; I hadn’t been to a bar just to listen to a band in years. Nine PM? I’m usually half asleep by then! (Unless, of course, I’m in Las Vegas, sitting a slot machine or in NYC, having dinner after a Broadway play.) Somehow, I managed to talk myself into going with a couple of other old broads, and we laughed about our adventurous spirit at OUR age. I had a superb time, and Katie was very grateful we came. So, when she performs again next month, I’ll be there.

At my age, I am solely responsible for my own happiness. “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.” (Invictus, Henley, William Ernest.) Remember that my friends. You only get one shot at life; there’s no do-overs.

Carpe diem, Sue