It's Another Birthday

It’s a simple math problem. How many decades are in a century? First you have to know that there are a hundred years in a century and a decade is made up of ten years. So there are ten decades in a century. Today I turn 7/10 of a century old. To put it another way, I’ve lived for seven decades. Or I’m beginning the eighth decade. Any way you look at it it’s a long time.

I don’t mind too much. Every day that I’m vertical and can put one foot in front of the other I’m thankful. It’s been an interesting experience, this aging thing that is. It was a shock a while ago to look into the mirror and wonder if I might be turning into a Dalmatian. Since I’ve always been an outdoors type person it was only logical that I would eventually get age spots. I hoped that they would look like freckles but that was not to be. Yup, more like a Dalmatian.

I always heard that gravity was the enemy but now I know it firsthand.

A new acquaintance, Arthur Ritis as one of the characters in my novel says, is letting me know he’s around. Some days a little more than others.

I still have all my teeth! If I were a horse that would be worth something. I even have all my wisdom teeth much to my dentist’s dismay. He finally tired of me saying “If it ain’t broke, don’t try to fix it.”

We have a rule around our house. We don’t discuss our meds, the number we have to take or what our newest ailment is with others. That’s old people talk and even though we have both reached that seven decade mark, we don’t need to bore others with our aches and pains. Theirs are probably worse than ours anyway.

As I lathered up my legs the other morning to shave I wondered if I would still be doing this in my eighth decade (should I be so lucky to make it that far). Shouldn’t there be a cut off year where shaving isn’t necessary? Haven’t I reached that yet? 

Of course one of the things that bothers me the most is being called elderly. It hasn’t happened to me personally yet but every time I see a newscast that talks about someone in their sixties and labels them elderly I want to shout, “No! Not elderly!” Old or older maybe, but elderly just adds insult to injury. Does seven decades qualify? I hope not.

So, I’m getting older. I’ll go kicking and screaming into the next decade and be thankful that I can kick and scream although I can’t kick as high as I once did and screaming never got me anywhere. And I’ll be thankful that I have someone to share this next decade with for as long as we can. At seven decades though we don’t take out long warranties for anything we buy.

Did I mention I got a bit wiser along the way? A little more wisdom is the greatest gift of counting more birthdays. You tend to understand a bit better what’s important and what really isn’t. Age—not so important. Enjoying the age, yes.

Now if I could just remember where I put my keys, my sunglasses, and oh yes, what was your name?