I am beginning to struggle with the signs and symptoms of aging. They are sneaking up on me. More frequent longer naps. A stiff joint here and there. A contracting vocabulary. For a writer this is the most frustrating. I still understand all the words when I hear them but that word I want, the one that most exactly describes my thought, has dropped out of my vocabulary storage. Very frustrating.
Then there is the “loss of interest”. I can’t raise the energy or enthusiasm to get my self to Tufts and the Osher program, Learning in Retirement. I think,
“It’s a hassle getting over there.”
“That last course wasn’t that interesting.”
“ I can learn more from a book.”
I do feel more isolated but I rationalize,
“Only children know how to entertain themselves.”
“I’m never bored with my own company.”
I stopped going to Church about two years ago. There was a bit of a “dust up” over what I felt was the inadequacy of the “Food Bank” for the town, housed in our building. Two local elderly men ran it as a proprietary enterprise. They depended on voluntary contributions to stock the pantry. (Give what you don’t want, don’t need). This modus operandi does not provide a balanced, adequate diet for anyone. I felt it was totally inadequate to sustain the needs of the poor and jobless in our community during the coming economic crisis.
There was a friendly, supportive meeting after church one Sunday. It was a kind of “I’ll stroke your back, you stroke mine”, sort of meeting. I kept asking questions about why the town of Arlington Food Bank was not affiliated with the Greater Boston Food Bank.
The response was,
“They sent us rotten eggs”.
“ We don’t have freezer space to store the meat.”
I wouldn’t back down. I felt like the jobless and needy had my back. I later heard that the Minister had said I was a “trouble maker”. Fine, I thought, I’d stop giving money to the Church and give it to the Greater Boston Food Bank. At that point it seemed more Christian.
So, there went my weekly socialization at Church.
I have my three times a week exercise group where I check in with friends and acquaintances.
I have my sons, their wives and children, close by, praise be.
It takes more time, planning, gearing up for projects, chores, errands. I program each little trip, to the store, library, the grandchildren. No more dashing out the door spontaneously. Make sure you have everything you need. I am brought up short by omissions, loss of sequence.
Going someplace alone makes me anxious though inside, I know I can do it.
My friend Barbara Benes has just given me a book, My Mother, Your Mother by Dennis McCullough, M. D.. I have started to read it and feel like I have stumbled on the road map for the rest of my life. He calls his approach “Slow Medicine”. It is a caring compassionate journey.
I have sent copies to my sons. I recommend it to you and all my friends.
