EVERYTHING GIVES ME GAS

From all that I can gather from reading the news, following other people’s blogs and tweets, and watching television shows (ok, I know “The Golden Girls” is LONG GONE), sixty is the new forty. This makes me happy, and I am looking forward to experiencing the best years of my life, coming right up.

However, I am also starting to discover some of the glitches of aging. I knew this was coming, because I have been looking at my Mom’s hands get more gnarled as the years pass, and the joints on my own hands seem to be clamoring for attention these days. But I was not prepared for some of the other indications of my own rapidly approaching dotage that have made themselves most unwelcome in my life as of late.

I have a CORN on my foot. My God, I remember my grandmother complaining that her corns hurt! I have always been very particular about the fit of my shoes, and I don’t wear stilettos, so I am baffled about where this little devil came from. The good news is that it is the rationale for the pedicures that I now have to get regularly to keep it under control, and my husband seems to feel that these foot ministrations come under the heading of medical expenses, and so I have no guilt in that department!

Food that in the past was benign is now malevolent. Yes, we all know about beans. BUT NOW, EVEN GREEN BEANS? I find that I cannot predict what foods will bring on embarrassment, and so as an insurance policy, I now take Beano before every meal. I have to lie about it in restaurants with friends, telling them that I have Lactose Intolerance. Really, who wants to admit that these days, eating in general causes flatulence?

And I am finding that I lose things all the time. My car keys, which used to be very obvious in their location, have now taken to lurking in the strangest places: by the sink in the bathroom, in the pocket of my sweater, and most interesting of all, and this mystery has yet to be solved: IN THE REFRIGERATOR. All I can think of in that case is that I had them in my hand when putting the groceries away, and just set them down in there “for a second.”

Things ache now. My neck, my knees, my sacrum. I have a very lively relationship with my chiropractor, who is very cheerful, and says things like “Well, you have to remember that you aren’t as young as you used to be, and moderation is the key.” I HATE MODERATION. Evidently, this is obvious, because even my yoga teacher has had to impose restrictions, telling me that I am not allowed to practice at home until I have been a yoga student for long enough to have some sense. That is not how she put it, but the meaning was clear!

My husband and I have slowed down in the romance department. This is none of anyone’s business. But when he looks at me with a gleam in his eye, sometimes I look back at him witheringly. There is just so much energy allotted to us each day, and I have to prioritize mine…

All of this being said, I do find retirement to be the best of times. Each day holds great potential, I have no one else to consider when making plans, duty is a thing of the past, and money is no longer the issue that it once was. I can come and go as I please, and adventure is always just around the corner. Nothing can hold me back!

Standard equipment these days? Beano in my purse, liniment in the medicine cabinet, lots of glucosamine and chondroitin, and a positive attitude. Today’s plan? The Honda dealership, for

DUPLICATE SETS OF CAR KEYS.

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