I've always loved old movies, but these days I don't want to watch much else. TV shows using the latest technology, latest fashion, music, etc, are jarring. "You're moving too fast," I want to yell at the screen. "Slow down, adjust the seams in your nylons and put on your hat and gloves."
Thank God for Marvel's Agent Carter. That dame kicks ass in fabulous 40s fashions.
This evening, I was looking for some old photos. I can't find the ones I want, which makes me cranky, but I did find things I didn't know I had - letters to my grandmother from her brother when he was stationed overseas during WWII. He mostly wrote that he missed everyone and he couldn't tell anyone where he was, and he wrote poems.
My Great-Uncle Dale, rough-and-tumble Marine who drank a lot of beer and smoked a lot of cigarettes, and wrote things like, "I bet the kids are all growed up by now," wrote poetry. Here's one:
(That Postponed Letter)
I ought to write a letter,
But I can't get in the groove;
If I could write some certain things
You'd see my pencil move.
I'd like to tell what town I'm in,
And just what things I do,
But must be content to wait until
These wartime days are through.
I ought to write a letter
And repeat the things I know,
The things they would not censor out,
Like how I love you so.
Who knew? I never talked to him about his experience, and he never volunteered. I was, after all, just a kid, and a little girl at that.
But now I'm no longer a little girl, and sometimes I don't know how to be old. My mind seems ageless. It feels no different than when I was a teenager. My body doesn't feel 60. Yes, I have aches and pains, but no more or less than when I was dancing.
|Selfies require good lighting, proper makeup, and a scarf to hide the neck wrinkles.|
When I look in the mirror, it's another story. The nurse at the hospital (when I went for my colonoscopy) told me, in a rather astonished voice, "You're the youngest 60-year-old I've ever seen." But I know different. I've watched the changes, the wrinkles, the extra chin, the thickening waist.
I suppose I could get depressed about the whole process, but what is Plan B? I'm certainly not going to waste my retirement money on plastic surgery. The only thing I can do is to keep the memory of my grandmother close to me, and realize that I'm growing to look like her.
|My grandparents, Hansel and Myrtle Wetherholt|
In the end, I'm proud to look like someone I loved so much.
How about you? How are you handling this thing called aging?