Thought on Aging

I’ve been accusing my children, probably falsely, of pushing me into old age. I appreciate that they are so protective, but I figure they more they tell me I can’t do, the faster I’ll age. It’s all well meaning: Jordan is panicky about my contracting West Nile Virus (mosquitoes don’t even particularly like me) and warns me that I’m in a dangerous age bracket—makes me feel like an endangered species. Colin has forbidden (there’s a shoe on the opposite foot) me to stand on a stool and get the crockpot down from its high shelf—I must ask Elizabeth to do it (and she concurs).

I was talking with dear friends about this recently at supper—she’s seven years younger than I, and he’s somewhere in between. She said that each new phase of aging is like brand new territory for which we have no road map, no clue, yet our children expect us to have cumulative knowledge that guides us through this new land.

As I did the dishes, I thought about that and decided, for me, the flaw in her reasoning is that I don’t ever feel like I’ve moved into a new phase. In many ways, I feel the same as I did twenty years ago. Granted, there are some new physical problems, and my feet are shot, but frequent yoga keeps much of the pain and stiffness at bay. So I still feel I can do things I did twenty years ago, although I recognize that my balance, never good, is worse these days. And I was never graceful, so I’ve taken some falls recently.

I don’t want to start questioning myself—can I take this heavy garbage cart down to the curb or should I ask for help (I did it myself).  Can I stand on a stool and explore what’s in that cupboard over the fridge (nothing as heavy as the crockpot.) Seems to me it would be so easy to slip into old age by saying, “I’m too old. I’ll have to ask someone to do that for me.”

Colin says it’s a question of making good choices, and he’s probably right. There are some things I couldn’t have done twenty years ago and ought not try now. I can’t garden—it kills my low back. But I can keep a pot garden on the front porch and the deck. I can and will continue to cook and throw big parties. And I’ll continue to enjoy life.

A confession: I notice I become much more dependant when my children are around. One day before school was out, Jamie was here and went with me to get Jacob. I clung to him crossing the street. Shoot! I cross that street every day by myself just fine. I’m really watching that kind of stuff.

I’m editing a book now for someone else about a blind man who is really touchy about asking for help and downright angry when people offer help he doesn’t need. I’m taking a hint from him—I’ll ask for help when I need it, and do as darn much as I can for myself.

Yoga and me

I would love to tell you that I can do a headstand or the pigeon or any number of poses, but the sad truth is I can't even stand on one foot very well. I'd also love to tell you I practice my yoga every day, but, alas, I don't. I average about four days a week. If I don't do it early in the morning, I'm probably not going to get it done that day unless Jacob goes home early and I have no plans for the evening. Sometimes I let my desire to watch the news get in the way in the evening. So mornings are better--if I don't have errands to run and things to do outside the house.
And oh my! can I procrastinate! I remind myself of the late Erma Bombeck who would rather scrub floors or wash windows than face a blank computer screen. I fiddle with this and that in the kitchen, I straighten things I would never otherwise think of straightening. Finally I make myself go in the back room, spread out the mat, takes off my shoes and get to it.
And then I enjoy it. If I think about 30-40 minutes, it seems forever, but before I know it, I find myself doing the closing exercises of my routine. And there are some things I can do that I'm pretty proud of. Wish I knew the names of all the poses, but I'm getting pretty good at warrior, and I can do ten mini-push-ups (may not sound like much but at my age, for someone who started four years ago, I think it's pretty good). I can hold the boat pose for a count of 20; one day when I did that my yoga instructor said, "Do you realize how much strength that takes?" And I'm really proud of my spinal balance--you kneel on all fours, then extend one leg and the opposite arm. I added an exercise--one leg raised with the hips off the floor and supported by the opposite leg, bent at the knee; then the other leg; and finally both legs, with hips off the floor,, supported by your arms. That led Elizabeth to say, "Look at you! You're doing pilates!" Little did I know.
I should add that Elizabeth, my yoga instructor nad longtime friend, lives in my garage apartment these days. I don't take lessons, but she's around if I want to ask about a certain pose or something.
At the end of a yoga session, you're supposed to relax and meditate. When I first started and was taking regular lessons, Elizabeth said to me one day, "You're reading the titles in the bookcase, aren't you?" I was. But these days I really do empty my mind and go through a relaxation series, followed by meditation which for me turns into prayer. And when I'm done, I truly do feel refreshed and better.
I"m prone to falling. As my oldest son Colin said, "Mom, it's not that your balance is bad. It's that you don't look where you're going." I've taken several falls in recent months--the worst was when I fell into the open dishwasher, after tripping on a turned up rug--but I have, knock on wood, avoided serious injury. I attribute it to yoga.
 So why do I procrastinate? I think because I always feel the rush of other things I have to do. But of all the things on my plate, yoga is probably one most important to my well-being. Maybe I can work up to five days a week.
 

Success as a grandmother, a scary fall, and cooking

In spite of Jacob's screaming fit early in the evening last night, I am feeling like a success as a grandmother. Jacob went peepee in the potty twice last night and twice this morning. Then he insisted on putting on his "big boy" pants--you can't tell from this blurry picture (I had a moving target) but they are Spiderman, of course.


Just after this Jacob slid on the rug in front of him and kicked up a corner; I tripped on it and went flying so hard that I had to sit there a minute. He kept saying, "I want to help you up," and holding out his little hands, which gave me a vision of both of us going down in the other direction. Landed on an elbow and a knee which hurt at the time but now are fine. But I apparently pulled muscles in my back, so that it hurts to stand up, turn a certain way, etc. Most of all it scared me. I predict a long nap coming.

This has been another cooking weekend. I worked much of yesterday morning making mashed potatoes and salmon cakes--I ate a salmon cake and Jacob ate a small portion of one. One will make my favorite sandwich at lunch, and Jordan will take one home tonight for her lunch tomorrow. Jordan and Addie came back from the party after eleven last night, having eaten pizza and not interested in my cooking. We sat on the porch for one last sip of wine, and it was most pleasant. Jacob, bless him, slept until 8:15. Apparently he does better at my house about sleeping late and using the potty. No wonder I'm proud.

Hope I do better with a cooking audience tonight. I spent part of the morning mixing lamb burgers (they have mint in them) and making a French potato salad (vinaigrette, no mayo). Still have last night's broccoli, which Christian won't eat, but he'll eat the spinach/red onion salad that goes on the burgers.


Doing a lot with recipes lately as we're editing Grace & Gumption: The Cookbook. Katie's editing text, and I'm scurrying around helping one contributor get recipes from Mexican American restaurants--she says it's very hard because so few are written down. This morning Carol, who wrote the career women chapter, brought me the recipes (original plus Carol's version) of recipes from an African American woman who made a career for herself as a chef and caterer in the 1950s and '60s. I particularly remember her frozen chili biscuits when I first moved here--you just popped them in the oven and you had an appetizer. Carol never could find the recipe, so I'm going to call some other old-timers and make sure I't not imagining things. I may take a crack at the recipes today--or I may read a novel that someone sent us to reprint.

Later: my lamburgers, mixed with mint and paprika, topped with a salad of spinach and feta, were a success--and delicous if I do say so, so now I'm way over my Weight Watchers points for the day, because we also had potato salad with vinaigrette dressing. But it was good. Jacob was full of himself, mostly because his daddy was here, and he laughed and played and screamed and swept the floor endlessly--we kept having to tell him the floor only, not walls or tables. My potty training of earlier has gone to pot (sorry about that pun) but maybe it will have some longlasting effect. And he gave sweet kisses and hugs as he left.

When I got up from my long and happy nap, I thought my back was better, but soon realized it had stiffened up while I lay there. But now, by the time I've moved around a lot, it really is better. Christian fixed my alarm system for me, and all seems well.

Back to reading and a lazy evening.