The "Sucks to Get Old" Drawer

Recently the time for a change came to the drawers that hold my regular/easy access grooming and personal care products. As much as I dreaded doing it, convenience dictated that I reorganize.

Moisturizer lost it’s place as one of the first products I sought while preparing for the day, and muscle rub took its spot.

The “I Feel Pretty” drawer became the “Sucks to Get Old” drawer.

Potions replaced lotions.

I don’t know if I am more upset that muscle ache relief became such a vital part of my life or that the skin care products upgraded to most of a shelf in my linen closet.

What I really dread is the day that the anti-achey stuff expands to the shelf in the linen closet.

Sight for the Sites

         The topic of aging has dominated much of my life lately. Just as I recovered from pulling a muscle in my back, I had to pack for a conference in Chicago. Instead of being concerned about what clothes to wear, my thoughts rested on glasses.

         Specifically – how many pair to pack.

         During the last three conferences I have attended I have had to pay the elevated rates hotels charge for everything reading glasses as I have managed to break the pair I took with me. The absence of reading glasses renders me useless at a conference. If you have not attended a conference lately, there is much reading involved. Much of that increasingly on a small screen (there is and app for that – check your smart-phone application market and you can find a conference app for almost every major conference – and small ones techy people attend).

         In addition to the conference planner/tips/etc. app for the smart phone, people still provide paper handouts of their 64 PowerPoint slides. There are also menus in unfamiliar restaurants.

         I opted for the side of caution, and after seeing how much space was available, by packing three pair – one in each bag and the pair I wore. I am determined to see my way through the entire conference with my inexpensive drug-store readers rather than the imported designer readers the hotel will sells.

To-Do List Undone

         I have a hard time relaxing in the way most people define relaxing even when I have days off. For spring break I made a lengthy list of spring cleaning chores to do around the house. Everything necessary - weather, time, materials - lined up to make completion of the list a possibility. I came into the week mentally drained but physically charged. The physical labor is what I needed to relax following a stressful month.

The attractive results (flower beds and vegetable garden) of the labor were just an added bonus.

         Then I started unloading the gardening supplies.

         Doing anything on the list came to an immediate halt while I carried a 64 quart bag of potting soil. I turned to go around the corner of my house and felt pain shoot across my lower back and down my legs. I was not lifting. I was not lowering. I was just walking.

         This is the third time in just over a year that I have hurt my back. As much as I hate going to the gym, this is a wake-up call that I have to get in and work on my core strength. Like it or not, I am aging and I have to do more to take care of my body to keep it functioning the way I expect it to.

         Two days later I was still just sitting. Aspercreme, Aleve, Ibuprofen and a folded towel behind my back. Two days of anything but relaxation.

The worst thing about sitting around for over two days with a to-do list going undone is that that it only increases my stress level. I looked forward to the physical activity releasing my mental stress. Having my hands dirty and breathing the outdoor air does wonders for my mental state.

         The interruption does exactly the opposite.

         I have been able to fill the time reading, writing, and discovering there is absolutely nothing on television worth watching.

         I have found some professional Twitter discussions to join.

         I cannot just sit here and do nothing productive. Even if I am not completing the to-do list, I find options to replace it.

         My landscaping may be left wanting, but I am a few months ahead on my blog work (yes, I do some things in draft well in advance) and I am well into a couple books of professional reading. Considering those things I am finding some positive use for my time confined to the chair.

         Another positive to the time in the chair was that I healed more quickly than if I had tried to power through and do what physical labor I could. By the fourth day I was moving almost normally. I still winced from time to time as I made a move my body was not ready to make, but I was able to pack for a trip (I was able to make the trip after fearing for a few days that I would have to cancel) and leave the house somewhat orderly for my return.

         The garden to-do list remains undone. Here we have a very short spring before withering summer heat diminishes the productivity of most garden plants. Until it is complete, I am keeping my weekends free and I am avoiding anything over twenty-five pounds.

Call Your Mother!

         Eventually it is going to sink in: I need to call my mother more often. Children are often chided to call their parents, but it can be so easy to place that call on the back burner until we hear from them. I genuinely dislike talking on the phone and avoid it as much as possible, so it is very easy for me to put that phone call on the “to-do” list without any urgent stars next to it. Then I get a call from her when she thinks I am done with work, or even in the middle of the day, leaving the short message, “call when you can.”

         “Call when you can” means “I have bad news to share with you.”

         Just as I am bad about calling, so is my mother, but lately I have been getting that call on an almost weekly basis. The news always comes with “a name I have known all my life” and “died” or “cancer” or “stroke” or “heart attack” or “other serious condition.”

         I have a hard time accepting my own age, and I am still surprised by all this news. I have to realize that at my age, people who were adults when I was growing up are now old and people who were old when I was growing up are now really old. Five people who lived within a mile of me when I was growing up (and I grew up in the country, so five people is a HUGE percent of the neighbors) have died in the last year. Three of those people were like parents or grandparents to me.

         I do not think about aging. It does not cross my mind. It just happens (thank goodness).

         Perhaps, though, aging should be more in the forefront of my consciousness. I moved away from my childhood community over twelve years ago, so it is easiest to preserve that community in my memory just the way it was when I left. The phone calls have reminded me that though I moved away from the people I knew well, life, and all its changes, has continued for them and for me. Not only do I need to call my mother more often, I need to remember all the people who have been important in my life more than just at the funeral.

         The recent visits home and the frequent thoughts of those who have died or are suffering extended illness have made me reminisce for the place I still call home. As much as I miss it and miss those who are a part of it, life has continued for them and for me. Despite the passing pangs of nostalgia, I have no lasting desire to go back. Moving on, though, does not change the value I have for those people and places in my history: I am who I am because of their influences and no clichéd appreciation diminishes the gratitude I have for those influences.

         Yes, I do need to call my mother more often. I also need to call the community.

         “Hello. It’s Rusty. Yes, it’s been too long. How are you?...”

 

Old Men and Small Spaces

Sometimes the simplest task brings unexpected complications. My truck came with an auxiliary input, but it is not easily accessible. Still all one has to do is access the wire behind the dashboard. Previously a satellite radio receiver was connected to the input, but after it stopped working, I had nothing working through that access point.

With a lengthy road trip coming up, 12.1 days of music, and 4 days of pod casts in my iTunes library, I have no need to spend my trip scrolling through unpredictable broadcast radio stations when I can make a custom playlist to play each way on the trip. Having all of this in mind, I decided to connect my iPod to the auxiliary input. All I needed was to plug it in, right?

The access panel came of easily and the access to the system was clear. I just had to work my way up under the dash to reach all the wires and move them to a point where I can connect everything. On my first reach I discovered that old men and small spaces do not go well together. To get my arm where it needed to go I had to twist around, grasp the wire, and pull it down.

Twist. Grasp. Pull. Forty-five-year-olds cannot do that without proper warm-ups.

I felt and heard the muscle pull and wondered for a bit whether I would be able to even get out from under my dash. I began to consider how long it would be before a neighbor came by to pull me out. After taking a few deep breaths, I managed to slide out and make it inside to my recliner.

Almost a day later finds me still in my recliner. Fortunately with cloud technology, I am able to work from home and not get too far behind. I am still not convinced that is a good thing, but on days like today when I feel fine but simply cannot move, I think it is a good thing. Especially since I hope to take a day off later in the week to make my road trip.

But to finish the installation of the iPod kit, I think will require a trip to an audio shop with younger people crawling into the tight spaces.

No Good Story

Just when I believed I would start setting geriatric speed records as I resumed my running, the entire endeavor ended (temporarily) in a single movement. Age showed itself with a pulled muscle in my back. Sadly, there no good story comes with it.

In fact, the debilitating event came from such a simple action that I wonder just what I could do to prevent it: I leaned over to get a pen out of my backpack and upon straightening up, a stabbing pain began shooting down my back. I could not continue sitting at the coffee shop and had to return home to my heating pad and what pain killers I had.

Two days of heating pads and epsom salt baths and my back feels much better, though my whole body is stiff from trying to move without straining my back. If today continues as I hope, I will run again in the morning.

Though the back pain causes some inconvenience, I recognize that it is just one part of aging, but approaching it with good humor and determination will not long slow me down.

Still, I want a better story than picking up a pen.