Musings on Aging, Part Four; or—Scary Things Are Happening

Okay, I admit it, I am a bit in shock of what is happening to me. I always believed that I would grow old gracefully, have that placid, even disposition that comes with maturity, and would never play Bingo in my old age. Well, the reality is, it isn’t playing out that way!

Let’s take appearances for a start. Two decades ago, I met an elderly lady in the beauty aisle of a local store, who was intently reading labels and eventually settled on one. With a smile on her face, she said, “here I am, eighty five-years old, and still believing that a product will erase my wrinkles.” We exchanged pleasantries and went our separate ways. However, I thought to myself, how silly that old lady was—that will never be me in twenty years! I was either terribly lucky that I still had a fairly wrinkle free face then or very naive. The painful truth today, is that my former “fine lines” have become permanent crevices— like small cracks on a poorly installed concrete slab. I am jolted awake every morning when I glance into my vanity mirror and see a very old, scary looking woman appearing back at me and then realize it’s me. I now purchase eye creams, moisturizers, products with Retin A, and concealers, along with quite an assortment of cosmetics, too numerous to mention. You will see me frequently in aisle 3 of the drug store. But that isn’t the end of it. Forces of gravity are attacking parts of my body with a vengeance, causing a rather unique body shape that currently doesn’t have it’s own definition. (I am neither Apple, Pear, Hour Glass, Triangle or Inverted Triangle.) Perhaps the best descriptive category would be Overall Squishy —think Pillsbury Doughboy—but I don’t think anyone wants to advertise or market that image.

Let’s move on to that “placid, even disposition” trait. As much as I try to avoid reacting to current events, I am incurably drawn to them by the end of the day. Almost daily, there is an “outrage of the day” that snares me into its absurdity. Can I possibly do anything to change it? If it’s a political issue in our country, I can vote but otherwise my reactions are just a futile waste of energy. I am very cognizant of that, but still I talk back to the TV, vent to others, rant to myself and bemoan the fact that too many people remain silent or “go-along” to “get-along.” I have tried for years to develop a calm, quiet manner by exploring meditation, yoga, tai chi, deep breathing exercises and years ago took lessons in the transactional analysis program called “I’m Okay, You’re Okay” which was helpful in dealing with individual people but did nothing for my response to worldly events. I don’t think I am a “Karen” per definition I found on the internet (“pejorative slang for an obnoxious, middle-aged white woman who uses her privilege to get her way or police other peoples behavior”) but I do believe there are times when one just has to be outspoken and take a stand. Alas, all those above efforts to become a serene individual, taking life in stride without angst, apparently have failed to take hold…Excuse me for a moment while I renew my blood pressure and Xanax prescriptions.

But what really has me running scared is the game of Bingo. No-one detested that game more than my beloved and I was certainly not a fan of it either but the year he attended the Defense Language School to study Arabic, (’66) changed everything. The course was just shy of a year and classes were intense from 8am to 4:30 Mon.-Fri. and entailed at least another three hours every evening doing homework or reviews. Saturday was family and errand day, and so there was very little time for a social life as a couple. Many of the wives got to know each other through the wives club and we hatched the idea of meeting at the Club every Sunday with our husbands in tow to have lunch and then play Bingo, served with some alcohol-based libations. It would be an outing with mindless relaxation. And so it came to be (because he loved me ) that almost every Sunday afternoon we would go to the Officer’s Club at Fort Ord for lunch and attend the crowded Bingo games. Everyone played four cards for a nominal fee and the individual game prizes were always pretty decent. The luck of the Irish was usually with him. Hardly a Sunday went by that he didn’t win something—from an electric skillet, to a set of steak knives, to gift certificates, fruit-baskets, glassware, bar utensils, etc but he still would say the game was absolutely mind numbing! By November, we knew his next duty station would take us back to the mid East, and our pack out date was set for mid December. Therefore, it was pretty ironic that in mid November he won the Grand prize which consisted of a beautiful large RCA console TV plus a couple of hundred dollars in cash. We got to enjoy the tv for a month before selling it as we could not use it where we were going. The last time we ever played the game was the second Sunday of Dec. 1966 and mutually agreed we would never play it again. Now let us jump to 2012. We were already long time retirees living in our enchanted cottage but decided to just check out options about moving into an independent retirement community. We visited one —no, it was not the one I am now a resident of—and after we got back home, we discussed our feelings about making such a change or staying put. He said he did not want to have to sit through meals, listening to an “organ recital” every evening. I was a bit slow on understanding his statement and he explained he did not want to hear about everyone’s heart, lungs, stomach, intestinal, etc problems at the dinner table. (Funny!) I said the only people I saw assembled together were those attending a Bingo game and couldn’t imagine either of us ever doing it again. Needless to say, we remained happily in our home. However It became a family joke, that if Dad or Mom ever took up the game, the “kids” should start to worry about us. Here comes the scary part—About a month ago, I actually attended a Bingo party here that an outside group provided . Believing strongly that we should welcome any group that makes the effort to come in, I attended and probably laughed harder and longer than any other event I’ve attended. I was such a novice—the cards were modern with sliding covers to close when a number called was on your card, (in lieu of the un-popped corn kernels used in 1966). Each game had it’s own pattern to fill—“Picture-frame,” “Cross,”“X” etc.and culminated in the final game of covering all of a card. We had four cards each and the pace began a bit too fast and the caller’s voice a bit too soft for all of us to keep up. It was easy to get distracted and miss out on numbers—hey, there was more involved in this then I ever recalled from the past. The caller was new to this also but proved to be a good sport—we even got him mixed up a couple of times! This was no longer “mindless relaxation”! It called for the co-ordination of hearing, sight, and hand-to-card placement along with concentration. One had to keep one’s wit about them to play all four cards accurately and the roving spotter did her best to keep us on track. Seasoned players helped us novices and it turned out to be a most amusing and fun time. And this was all without any libations! So, fair warning to my family—Mom may become a Bingo Regular in the very near future!

A wise person said: “there is no constant in life but change.” How true! But it does get scary when “changes” change you physically, emotionally and mentally.

Not that there is any direct correlation or anything, but:

Happy Halloween to All!