SIXTY AND OVER

 

Eileen Cichello

 

Some six years ago, the handwriting appeared on the wall.  Our son Paul, who'd been away for two years in the Peace Corps, was riding in the car with us to a family wedding reception. I was commenting on how old looking a sister in law had gotten in the years since I'd last seen her. 

Never one to leave well enough alone, I said to Paul, "Lord, she's aged. I don't look any older than I did when you saw me two years ago. Right?" Unfortunately, I'd raised my kids to tell the truth regardless of consequences.  A very, very long silence followed.

"Oh, spit!" I said. "You don't have to answer."

So there it was. It was happening to me too…the ravages of time doing their dirty work on face and form.

The first warning actually came years before at a dermatologist's office.  He found several little spots on my face which he told me were senile keratosis. Keratosis didn't sound any too great but senile was beyond the pale. I asked him if he could please find another name for them, at least in my presence.

More recently, I asked him where my face had gone to. I used to have an easily distinguishable chin and neck. Now they seem to run together. I was complaining about this to our daughter Claire awhile back and she sent me a book of facial exercises. I didn't want to hurt her feelings but since I can hardly bring myself to exercise my body, there was no way I was going to stand in front of a mirror making faces at myself. It's also a matter of too little too late.

Another annoying attribute is the saddlebags that settled on my hips when I wasn't looking.  There's been an unfortunate coincidence…I'd never had a weight problem and all of a sudden…well, actually over the last few years, I found myself toting 15 extra pounds around at the same time that my dormant sweet tooth sprang to life. Sweets and Italian bread. Sam's mother, who for health reasons was on an enforced diet in her latter years, used to say Italian bread had no calories. Now I find myself wishing that were true. I made strawberry freezer jam last year. It is just incredibly good on Italian bread. Unfortunately.

If I had any illusions about being young, aided and abetted by poor lighting in our bathrooms, and my habit of glancing fleetingly in the mirror, it came to an abrupt end the day the young woman working at a fast food place said to me, "Of course, you can get the senior citizen discount." And that when I hadn't even asked for it!

A bunch of friends meet monthly for lunch. Conversations drift to cholesterol levels, how many pills we're taking, who died recently. But you know what? We laugh more than we ever did. The vagaries of life are laid out for our entertainment. We have much less need to impress each other and cheerfully admit our foibles to each other. I like it.

I like many other things about this age too. The pleasure of seeing what our adult children are doing with their lives, our grandchildren growing in age and grace, a generally more relaxed take on life, a more reflective take, a coming to terms with strengths and weaknesses, a basic acceptance of reality and self, including our own mortality.

Would I be twenty again? Not on your life! I like it right where I am! Of course, if given the choice, I wouldn't mind getting my face back…