My mother called a few days ago to sing “Happy Birthday,” then asked if I had applied for my AARP card yet. “You’re officially a senior citizen,” she said. Wow, thanks, Mom, you sweet old bat!
I just had a birthday, my 55th, and suddenly I began to see things more clearly. Not literally. In fact, I have to schedule an exam and have my glasses checked. My eyes have become a bit blurry. Perhaps they need a tune-up or something. Okay, so my eyes are losing focus, but not the rest of me! There was a time I thought nothing of shelling out big bucks for exotic face creams. Now I’m thrilled to spot a sale on moisturizer in the latest Avon book (my lotions and potions lady, Betty, is marvelous)!
If anything, my focus has shifted but become sharper, just as my derriere has shifted and hangs lower. And don’t get me started on the other laws of gravity. According to something called “the pencil test,” if you can place a pencil under your breasts (while unclothed) and it falls to the floor, then your bazooms are still firm and in the full and upright position. So where does that leave me? I can get a full pocket protector and the IT tech wearing it under there and no one would know.
I remember visiting the older members of my family and listening to their list of ailments of the heart, stomach, kidneys, liver, etc. Those loved ones are all gone now. How I miss their organ recitals. Now I have my own version with creaking, cracking joints every time I change positions. It’s Ariel Waterman, the one-woman percussion band, live in concert every morning at 6:30 a.m.!
I have heard it said that age is just a number, that growing older is simply a state of mind, and growing old gracefully is akin to mellowing like a fine wine (better than a moldy cheese, I suppose). But even a fine wine has a shelf life and can turn to sour vinegar. The late comedienne, Lucille Ball, once commented, “The secret to staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age.” So that’s the key to aging gracefully!
I come from a long line of women who have aged gracefully. My mother, who is my rock of Gibraltar, has kept her age so secret that even the Spanish Inquisition could not get it out of her. Really! She was there and they tried. She broke them! Now, as you can see, I have already given my age away in this story’s headline, so Mom, I know you are reading this and considering changing your will. (No one is going to believe that you were born pregnant with me.) Just don’t show it to any of your friends and your secret will be safe (that is, until this article gets posted on the Sun website). Honestly, my mother should sweat into bottles and sell the result—she looks that good with very little effort. That’s aging gracefully.
Women of my age are usually going through that “change of life” called menopause. I call it a change in life because my men often give me pause. Five years ago, I was single. Now I’m married to a transplanted Britisher and we are raising a 7-year-old grandson (the Mini-Brit). The Brit is the financier of the house and is remarkable with facts and figures. But show him a roll of toilet paper and the simple dispenser on the bathroom wall and he becomes a clueless caveman. And don’t get me started on the Mini-Brit in the bath—he’s still working on improving his aim.
There’s nothing like a small child to keep you on your toes as you grow older. Recently, as we shopped for groceries, he spotted a sugary cereal and pleaded that I buy it. I was emphatic and unmoved. More begging ensued, followed by more resistance on my part. This resulted in “The Litany of Hate”: “You don’t love me and you are so mean to me,” he loudly broadcast in the produce section. Great. Now everyone is staring at us. So I went with it. “That’s right! I eat little boys like you for tea! You can beg all you want, but I will not buy Lucky Charms cereal for you because I am the Grandma from Hell!” Even the produce manager guffawed while Mini-Brit fumed as he slunk past the tomatoes, but he got over it.
Becoming a wife and grandmother all at once certainly has been a change in life, and a shift in priorities. I remember my grandmother, Lula Presta, with incredible affection. She was my age now when I first became aware of her age. I was just 5 and thought 55 was so very old. I remember every line in her face because I would often stroke it, and my fingers still hold the memory of every soft wrinkle.
When our little guy was 5, he was stroking my face in the same manner one day. He had always called me by my name and referred to his grandmother (my husband’s late wife) as “Nana.” But on this day, as he caressed my cheek, he said, “You are the best grandma in the world.” So I told him that he could call me “Grandma” if he wanted, but that the decision was his. He responded, “I don’t want to call you that. If I call you Grandma, people will think that you are old!” Talk about putting things into perspective!
Marriage late in life (my first) has also had its moments. Don’t think that growing older means growing less intimate. I find that I have grown more sensual and sensitive as I have aged, with fewer inhibitions. I figure I’m not getting any younger, so getting any while the getting is good is really good! I save up every embrace and every kiss in my memory banks. I may need to draw on them later—but, I hope, much, much later.
To sum up my 55 years of life on this planet so far, I have had the honor of becoming my mother and grandmother in manner and demeanor. That’s because I was blessed with wonderful role models of two wise and loving women to emulate and a sweet husband and grandson on whom to lavish all my love and acquired wisdom. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to call the fire department. My cake is burning.
Ariel Waterman loves yellow cake with chocolate icing. Send senior citizen discounts to her via Executive Editor Ryan Miller at rmiller@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Apr 9-16, 2009.