One thing about Father Time. They say he is an old man with a long white beard who moves slowly forward, never stopping. I may stop to pick a daisy but he continues on and somehow carries me along with him. It is like being on one of those moving treads at the airport. It takes twice as long, versus actual walking, to get to the other end but you do get there. Also, you do not have the choice to turn and go back. Science has not been able to reverse aging so time simply marches on and carries us along with it.
All of my life I have been one of those morning sprites who jumps out of bed, ready for whatever the next moment brings. I must say that there was no warning, no slow transition noticing subtle changes. There was just a rude awakening. As I sat up on my bed I felt an abrupt pain shoot up the side of my neck. Not believing what I was feeling I did not do slow easy stretches. I did not move slowly. Instead, I hopped to the floor and began to move towards my daily routine. And I paid the price the rest of the day as my now tortured neck made me look like a character in the TV series, “Night Of The Living Dead.” No wonder they eat people. The must be in such pain from getting out of bed in the wrong way.
I think of my mother, in her 90’s, with the arthritis hitting her thumbs hard. She lost a great deal of strength in her hands, even dropping full cups of coffee on her beautiful floor. A few years later, when she passed away, I suddenly began to notice sharp pains in my thumbs, and then the weakness in my hands. One day I am moving heavy boxes into my new house. The next day (okay, maybe it was a couple of years later) I could no longer lift a 50 pound box to save my life. I now notice it is sometimes hard to write with these thumbs and the pain and the weakness.
I had found myself questioning the fairness of life. I am 20 years younger than my mom was when she started to have trouble. And then I realized that she, herself, may have been 20 years younger when she began to have symptoms and she may have kept it all a secret from me. Moms can be very sneaky like that. She was always good at figuring out how to circumvent disasters and thus, probably, hide her discomfort for 20 years.
I don’t want to hide. I want to complain and whine. What better place to do that than here and to my dear, captive readers. And I’ll bet you all are sitting there thinking about your bodies and their little quirky pains. I give you permission to whine a little too. The good news is, I can pick up 40 pound boxes (just not 50) so I have figured out how to add light stuff in with the heavy stuff. That means the old brain cells are still working. And, instead of jumping out of bed in the morning, I do my foot stretches first. Then I sit up and do my neck stretches. Then I get out of bed. After my morning coffee I go and pack my boxes to a weight of 30 pounds. No reason to push boundaries, right?
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