Getting Old Is Fun

My mother never told me that getting old is so much fun.  Of course, she died young, so she couldn't have.  I have discovered an important thing about getting old.  I haven't really lost anything that I learned when I was younger.  I can't do a lot of things I did then.  I can't run anymore.  Spinning in circles on the lawn until I fall down and watch the world spin around me has lost its appeal, but I still remember the exhuberant feeling of it. 

I really like the developmental theories about growing up.  We talk a lot about stages.  We all laugh about the "terrible twos" and try to be supportive when the mothers of the little monsters that were such cute little babies cry on our shoulders.  But I finally learned that we don't just "go through stages."  The things we learn and the skills we acquire in the stages are still with us long after the "stage" is over.  The child that learns to build his own will and character at two is still practicing and refining that skill at seventy or more.

Growing up, like education, is life long and soul deep.  Most of the developmental psychologists give up at the "late adult" stage.  I hope that as the Baby Boomer generation has now entered the 65 year mark, more attention will be paid to the development possible in the "latter yerars."  It is sad to think that the only thing I have to look forward to is a slow demise when I see so much I want to know and learn. 

I went to the meeting of the LLL club at our church last week.  I did a miserable job of playing 84.  I have played a lot of games, but I'm not good at it.  Maybe that's something I should learn.  It doesn't feel like it.  I want to have and form and express opinions; I want to learn new ideas and see new visions.  Maybe I'm being critical, but I don't see myself playing games and sinking into senility quietly.  I want it to be an adventure, robust and sharp and intense.  "Go not gentle into that good night."

Moving is Miserable!

So Carol and Sarah and I are going to live together.  I hope!  Well, it's not exactly what I want, but it is the only way for Carol to do well, or at least better than she is doing now.

Moving is a time of change.  I don't want to change.  I like it the way I am now.  I like living alone.  I like eating when and what I want.  I like watching what I want on TV.  Boy, am I selfish, or what!

Carol has been approved for the SSI and she will be on Medicare and Medicaid again.  She will get the money they pay her that will pay for the car and insurance. 

I have begun trying to get things sorted and packed to move.  That sounds like I have done a lot, but that is vastly exaggerated.  I have thought about it a lot. 

I don't like change.  I like new adventures sometimes, but I want the basic things to be stable and fixed when the adventure is over.  I have not found life to follow my rules.  It seems to be in a state of constant flux, at least in retrospect.  Maybe it takes a look back, a periodic review, to see those changes.  When the changes are here at my fingertips, they are so much more disruptuve and insulting than when they creep in as an adjustment to the norm. 

Now I am contemplating what will change and I don't like it.  We will move to a duplex with a loft.  Sarah gets the loft. I will still have my computer.  I will still have church.  I will still go to Bible study.  Carol will have cooking shows and Jeopardy on TV.  Sarah will still go to school and she will be closer to the university to transfer to next year.  I don't think she has even thought about where she will work.  She doesn't seem to have a goal.  

I, on the other hand, have several.  Goals are good.  They keep pulling you forward, spurring you into tomorrow.  In spite of the things I don't like, I am looking forward to our future together. 

I Guess It's Time to Begin a New Blog

My mother taught me to aspire to bigger and better things, so I guess it's time to begin a new blog.  My daughter Carol is going to move in with me.  Carol used to be a cook, baker, and waitress in a little country cafe.  Her Rheumatoid Arthritis got so bad she had to quit work.  She worked with me and her sisters and, sometimes her father and brother, in our little catering business after that.  She had the most experience of any of us in the matter of preparing food for people.  She was the meat expert.  Mr. Sharp, the cafe owner, had mentored her in that skill.

By the time we closed the shop, her hands had deteriorated so much she could no longer hold a knife to cut steaks.  It's funny that the brain doesn't necessarily record the same limitations that the rest of the body knows very well.  Carol can no longer do any of the cooking she was so good at in those days, but her brain still wants to try.  She still wants to plan and organize things, so that gave me the idea: Since we are going to live together, we will write a blog.  I can do the typing, and she will tell me what to say about the food.

I guess we'd have to include recipes and preparation methods, new ways to make old favorites, and a few dishes that were a product of serendipity.  Since she watches a lot of cooking shows, we might include a few reviews of techinques from the big-time pros, too.

I guess one goal I have in writing this new blog is to give her something to think about and focus on.  She is in pain a lot, but she is able to reduce the impact of it on her attitude if she can think productively.  I think this may be really fun.