Eh, 90 you say, who would have thought?
DEAR EDITOR:
By cracky, that’s right, I reached a plateau in life not many reach… in July, I celebrated 90 years of age. You know that’s the age where, the hearing gets bad and the word you say the most is “eh,” you can’t see worth a darn and you can’t remember why that good lookin’ neigbour should be interesting to you. That’s not the only thing I can’t remember… like where I put the car keys, for instance… sold my car a year ago… don’t have any keys, but I forgot that.
Ever go into a room and wonder why you went in there? At my age, when I go into a room I can’t remember whether I’m going in or coming out. A memory is a strange thing… can’t remember my present neighbour’s name, but can remember Jack Francis who lived next to me in 1955.
They say our retirement years are golden years… they’re right it takes a pot of gold just to buy a week’s groceries. Speaking of our golden years, really, they’re our metal years… silver in our hair, if we have any, gold in our teeth, if we have any, and lead in your pants.
When I was a young whippersnapper never dreamed I’d ever be 90… some irate husband would probably catch to me before that. Never thought I’d need help to hear, see and walk around… yep, I use a walking stick, fancy name for a cane.
All these things are called “senior’s aids,” I call them a nuisance.
My doctor, a young kid of 65, wants me to keep a list of what I eat. At my age, I don’t need to keep a list of what I eat for lunch or dinner, just look at the front of my shirt and it’s all there. My wife said I should sit closer to the table… I wouldn’t get food on my shirt… if I sat any closer my middle age spread wouldn’t fit under it.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about getting old, nearly all my old friends took that last flight to the great senior’s home in the sky years ago. I just wish I could dance like no one’s watching, love like I was only 19, remember to do up the zipper in the front of my pants and walk around Munson’s Pond again… without a walking stick.
Can’t help but think… getting old ain’t for sissies.
Bill Peckham Kelowna