Posts Tagged ‘aging’
Long Drive
And… we are off! The adventure begins with a day of driving. We are leaving the Twin Cities and heading to Hill City, South Dakota. I laid out what I could think of needing and then stood wondering what I was forgetting. Have I mentioned how much I dislike packing?
I sent that picture to my biking partners on this adventure, Gary and Rich, and they questioned the upside-down footstool. Yeah, that’s not something I’m bringing. Cyndie was cleaning the floor around the bed while I was packing.
Cyndie and I took advantage of one more day at home without animal responsibilities and took in a matinee movie at the theater in Hudson. We didn’t need to ask for the senior discount. The attendant automatically gave it to us. Hmm.
We saw “The Roses,” starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Colman. With a great supporting cast of comedic actors, we hoped it would be a rip-roaring laugh riot. Being unfamiliar with the novel and the 1989 film this one is based on, we weren’t aware that a “tinderbox of competition and resentments underneath the façade of a picture-perfect couple” was the theme the humor rides upon. The mean streaks were a little harsh.
We capped off the movie outing with dinner at LoLo American Kitchen and Craft Bar in Hudson at such an early hour that it kept us on the theme of feeling like classic senior citizens out on the town.
Now I will be sitting in a car for most of the day today before trying to get my body going on Sunday morning to ride 60 miles of the Mickelson Trail. The motor and battery are installed on my bike, just in case.
I’ll be posting from my phone for a week if all goes as planned. Forgive me in advance if all you find is a single picture. That is an exercise I have long wished to try, picking just one image to feature from a full day of adventures. I have yet to accomplish that discipline, despite its offering the promise of a quicker and easier post.
I wonder if I packed the right charging cable. If I did, I wish I remembered where I stashed it.
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Not Exactly
Imagine my surprise when I was mowing along the fence line and came upon an unfamiliar sign attached to the top wire of the hay field fence.
To the best of my knowledge, we don’t have a donkey. This would be one of several types of wonderful surprises that tend to appear whenever we leave our property in the capable care of our friends, Pam and John. Such whimsical good fun.
Somehow, the eleventh day of July has arrived while I wasn’t looking. Minutes, hours, days, and weeks pass in a blink when you are having fun. I don’t have a clue how I coped with working a day job on top of everything else in life, since I am having trouble keeping up with daily life in retirement.
I’m on a swingset that goes all the way around, and all I get are glimpses of my surroundings as I sail past. My body feels older. Like it’s no longer mine. My mind and my body are on two different treadmills that roll along, each at a different speed.
Everything that I have learned over my lifetime tells me that the separation between opposites is so much more delicately thin than too many people are willing to accept. Often, things might not be exactly as they seem.
We don’t actually have a donkey, but if we did, I’m pretty sure it would be highly trained.
If I had a logical train of thought, you might find it easy to follow along to wherever it is I am headed. One thing that might help would be my having any idea where it is I intend to go. Quite honestly, I don’t. It’s not exactly a fine science.
It could benefit you to think of this post like the lyrics of a song. As you follow along, some portions might speak to you, and others just seem to fit the verse. Of course, this idea may only serve to detract from any sense of logic that may have existed before I started rambling.
If I were to somehow wrap all this nonsense up with a bow of intelligent thought, it might be this: I had no idea what I was going to write about when I started this post, and that does not exactly lead to a stellar composition.
Happy Eleventh of July!
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Feeling (C)old
Three days ago, our temperatures were around 80°F. Welcome to spring in the Northland. That unseasonal warmth brought an overnight storm with heavy rain and loads of lightning and thunder. Most of the day yesterday dragged on with a dreary occasional mist and temps hovering in the very chilly mid-30s.
Around dinnertime, the temperature dropped below freezing.
Just 47 minutes later, it looked like this outside:
Hot and cold weather always bounces back and forth this time of year, so we should be well-adjusted to coping with the changes, but the return of wintery chills and snow never fails to feel like an undeserved punishment.
It’s the final day of March. I could hope that this is the last blanketing of snow we will get for the season, but ever since going through the extreme experience of receiving 18 inches of snow on May 2nd, 2013, I won’t assume we are in the clear until the calendar flips to June.
Cyndie tried convincing Mia to wear a light blanket for protection against the wetness, but Mia wasn’t interested. I figure she didn’t want to look different than the other Mares. All four of them seem to be coping just fine, as they almost always do.
I’ve got coping skills of my own that I’ve been executing. Lounging in the recliner by the fireplace, eating more than I should, adding a few inches and pounds of insulation around my middle, and napping whenever my tired eyes keep trying to stay closed. It feels an awful lot like my impression of what getting old must be like.
My initiative to maintain an exercise routine for back health and strong core muscles has done a disappearing act. Now in my mid-60s, I seem to have experienced a shift of my own from hot to cold. My morning workouts now tend to involve more cerebral pursuits like Wordle, Strands, and Connections in the NY Times games suite and sporadic stabs at Words With Friends competitions.
My aging is getting more obvious now that mental exercise has become just as tiring as my physical workouts once were.
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Relatively Nothing
Asked: Now what are you up to?
Answered: I’m interviewing myself.
Asked: Why would you want to go and do that?
Answered: Well, umm… I don’t really know why. Maybe because, well, why not?
Asked: Don’t you already know the answers to questions that you are asking yourself?
Answered: That’s a really good question, and I’m glad you asked it. You see, for a long time, there have been rumblings that I’m just making this whole thing up. That, on days when nothing particularly noteworthy has occurred, I just wing it and pull some silly idea out of my butt and start typing about it. Sometimes, my fingers end up doing more work than my brain. Wait. What was the question again?
Asked: I think you answered it without even realizing it. Do you have an example of something that you just start typing about?
Answered: For sure. Just a second ago, probably while you were writing that question, I glanced out the door toward the tree branches beyond our deck, and something caught my eye. Some movement. It seemed big and up in the branches, so I imagined there might be an owl or an eagle in our trees. It’s always a thrill to see an owl, and my heartbeat quickened as I stared, looking for additional movement. I was soon rewarded with additional flashes of movement, and I recognized immediately what I was seeing. It was a reflection in the glass of the door whenever Cyndie moved around in the kitchen.
Asked: I don’t even know how to respond to that. Let me ask you this: What are you thinking about right now?
Answered: I’m wondering if my goal of posting something every day sometimes insults the intelligence of my readers when I wander off in some pseudo-creative endeavor in avoidance of admitting I just lolled around all day, rubbing sandpaper over a wood sculpture, watching comedic storytellers on Netflix, walking Asher around on our property, cleaning up after the horses, and taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon.
One of my favorite things, in case you were going to ask me that, is when I hear an involuntary chuckle out of Cyndie when I ask her to proofread one of my posts. I rarely intend to be entirely serious in my writing, and eliciting even a simple smile in a reader’s response would mean I am accomplishing something I set out to do. I don’t set out to do all that much these days, so that ranks high on bringing me quality of life.
Asked: Are you trying to say you are getting old without saying it?
Answered: Hah! No. Okay, yeah. (That reminds me of a dear friend who was skilled at the art of answering to many things with, “Yeah, no.” For some reason, I found that to be very endearing.) Of all the many ways my aging is increasingly making itself known to me, there is one that is both appreciated and horrifying. I suppose it helps that I am now retired because I have no reason to make myself presentable every morning. I rarely shave or comb my tangled curls. By avoiding mirror time, which is a wonderfully rewarding thing for me, I reap the horrifying results of unsightly hair growth from my nose, ears, and eyebrows in amounts that make me recoil to see. That just leads to more avoidance of the mirror. It’s a vicious cycle.
Asked: Please stop.
Answered: Gladly. However, that reminded me of a story. Maybe I can tell it tomorrow if nothing interesting happens between now and then.
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Payback Week
All’s fair in taking turns covering the ranch while your spouse gets a break from the routine. Cyndie is out of town for a week, and I am chief cook and bottle washer, dog walker, and horse wrangler while she is gone. It’s a bit of a mixed blessing for me since I really do enjoy time on my own, but unlike my time up at the lake last week, now I am responsible for the care and feeding of our animals throughout each day.
It’s not that much different from when both of us are home, except everything tends to take a little longer alone. The benefit of getting two things done at the same time is gone. Luckily, our animals all demonstrate a respectable amount of patience with me. I think they can tell I’m on my own.
To my benefit, a January thaw has taken away a lot of the stress of doing anything outdoors.
I thought about doing some tree branch trimming, but for the life of me, I can’t remember where I put a new pruning hand saw I got for Christmas. Didn’t find it in the shop or the storage cabinet in the house garage, so it must be somewhere more ingenious that I picked so I would know where to find it later.
Think, John, think.
As long as I was rummaging around in the shop, I decided to bring a wood sculpting project to the house and spread it out all over the dining room table. It’s one of those perks of being the only one home for a week, leaving a mess out, and not having it be in anybody else’s way.
I’m ready for the week to go smoothly, so Cyndie won’t have anything to worry about while she is away. I want her to have such a great time that she will come home eager to pay me back with another chance to escape to the lake when no one else is around.
You should know that all my gleeful ranting and raving about having time alone lately is simply because it compliments the wonderful times with Cyndie when we are home together and times with my many friends when I get to let my gregarious side run wild. Don’t let my advancing age fool you into thinking I have become a crotchety old, anti-social curmudgeon.
I’ve got a couple more years left until I fully grow into that description.
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Something Happened
When I passed the milestone of 65 years of age, something happened. Something more than the change of health insurance to Medicare. It was something much more subtle and has been worming around in my unconscious insidiously in the mere five months since my last birthday.
I’m losing momentum in my determination to tick away at something that builds strength, boosts stamina, and generally improves overall health each and every day. Last week, I opted to stay in bed instead of getting up to do my planking and stretching routines.
I’ve been telling myself that it was just a break and I could get back on track any time, but the number of breaks in that routine has been occurring with frighteningly increasing frequency in the last year. Similarly, I’ve noticed I don’t pay as close attention to the daily percentage of added sugar in my diet choices.
I think my mind is accepting the natural changes occurring in my body as joints grow arthritic and hormones and metabolism gradually and progressively fade. Being disinclined to seek hormone therapy options to combat natural aging, the best thing I can do involves exercise and diet.
I know the solution, but I’m losing the oomph to address it.
It’s like a football game where you play great, and the team pulls off some spectacular plays to keep the game close, but in the end, you lose by 1 point.
All that effort, but without a desired result.
I’m willing to accept I might not maintain my zest for the routines I’ve established with the intensity of my previous decade, but something happened with my motivation that I will need to address. Luckily, I haven’t replaced my good health practices with new habits like smoking or becoming a problem drinker.
Basically, I think I’m battling the feeling of becoming a tired old man before I actually am one.
The something that is happening is, I’m letting the gradual changes of aging get to my head.
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Three Shots
Why did I get three shots at once yesterday? Because they were offered. I laugh at myself when thinking of people who refuse to get vaccinations and here I go accepting multiple at once. As a person who has made a choice to use my thoughts to support my physical self in being as healthy as possible, I am not inclined to imagine bad things resulting from vaccinations.
I frame the pain in my arms as my body getting busy identifying the threat and doing the good work of preparing to fend off any future contacts. The fact that our bodies can deal with three different instances simultaneously impresses the heck out of me.
I’m a fan of the medical advances that have come with our understanding of microscopic interactions in the biological world. We don’t experience outbreaks of diseases because some invisible deity chooses to seek vengeance against humans.
I don’t recall my parents demonstrating any concerns against vaccinations, and that probably influenced my willingness to accept modern medical advice. Somewhere in my collection of family memorabilia, I have the “Quarantine” sign that hung on my dad’s front door when he had polio.
How great is it that virologist Jonas Salk developed a successful vaccine against poliomyelitis in 1953? How about Scottish bacteriologist Alexander Fleming finding the antibacterial effect of Penicillion mold in 1928? I lived on Penicillin through most of my youth, treating strep throat.
In the past year, I was subject to a bout of COVID-19 and, more recently, pneumonia. Today, I am armed (get it?) with fresh defenses against both, plus the current version for influenza.
I’ve entered that age bracket, you know. Goodness me, now I have to pay attention to the myriad health advisories for people 65 and older.
At least they aren’t concerned about giving old folks three shots at once.
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Wider View
It occurred to me, after the fact, that yesterday’s post would have been well-served by a photo of the entire gazebo. I hadn’t taken such a picture when I was capturing the flower blossoms earlier so I stopped down there yesterday to remedy that.
Pause and enjoy the image for a moment. Place yourself there, virtually. Hear the quiet that is gently visited by occasional bird songs.
It’s a sound that I appreciate a little more than normal lately. I’ve been staying up well past my usual bedtime this week because I’ve become an unlikely viewer of a national political convention. The residual echoing of high energy motivational speaking happening one after another has me appreciating the soothing quiet of our natural sanctuary spaces anew.
Watching a political convention is something I can honestly say I’ve never done before in my life. I tell myself the reason I find this litany of endless partisan cheerleading so captivating is that it offers a soothing antidote to the years of stinking dreck coming from a weird doofus who lies for a living.
However, the real truth about why I would now choose to watch this convention might more accurately be that I’m just getting old.
It doesn’t hurt that Kamala Harris selected the Governor of my home state of Minnesota to run as her VP. I’m a big fan.
I sure hope their effort succeeds. If there was ever a time for logic to manifest in the universe, let it happen for this November’s US presidential election.
Just one more night of convention speeches. I’m looking forward to a return to my old person’s sleep schedule starting tomorrow.
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Early Hints
In the wee hours of Monday morning, I stepped out on the deck at the lake to look for evidence of the Perseid Meteor shower. I had seen one meteor flash in the predawn hours a day earlier when looking through the bathroom window. It was the weekend of peak activity so I plotted to get a better view the next night. In roughly 10-12 minutes, I saw two streaks.
At 2 o’clock in the morning, that was not thrilling enough to keep me out of bed.
The arrival of the Perseids is a hint of the waning days of summer. Yesterday I noticed another early hint scattered on our driveway.
Those aren’t healthy green leaves that have fallen. The change in sunrise and sunset is just starting to be noticeable. The combination of these two phenomena amplifies the perception of the next season looming in our future.
Cyndie recently commented about how barren some spots on our forest floor are. I pointed out the areas of local farm fields where crops didn’t grow this year. The common factor in these areas is water saturation. Plenty of the low ground in our woods understory stayed so wet it drowned new growth.
I made two trips to River Falls yesterday, which took me past tree removal happening on the property of one of our nearby neighbors. They reported emerald ash borer was killing their big old ash trees. That’s an early hint of what is to come for ash trees everywhere around here.
My trek to River Falls was to consult with my doctor about two issues that I have failed to will away with wishful thinking. The shoulder I injured in a fall last February continues to give me enough pain and weakness that I need to find out if there is a tear that can’t heal on its own. More recently, I’ve started to experience pain that matches sciatica. The doctor suspects degenerating discs in my lower back are leading to pressure on the nerve.
I’ve got an appointment for an MRI to see what is going on in the shoulder, a prescription for a short round of steroids, and orders for physical therapy to address both the back and shoulder. Are my recent problems an early hint of my next level of aging?
News reports recently have featured a scientific study that claims people don’t age at a steady gradual rate. Apparently, we experience bursts of rapid aging in our mid-40s and early 60s. Oof.
The fact that I needed to show my new Medicare card at my clinic visit certainly helped to make me feel not as young as I used to be.
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Double Punch
Out of the frying pan, into the fire. I have done what I could to put the COVID infection behind me and resume normal activity but putting it behind me wasn’t supposed to be literal. I now find myself about as far away from normal activity as I have been in years.
There is something terribly wrong happening in my lower back that feels in every way as if one of my discs is bulging against the nerve that generates incapacitating waves of pain. My poor brain automatically leaps to a conclusion that the timing of these two latest physical maladies are entirely related, but I have no knowledge that this might be true.
All I know is that I am now one week away from the day my health insurance ends with the company that covered me for the first five months of the year and starts with my new choice under Medicare. I was hoping to get through the transition with a clean break from activity on either account.
Today, it is shockingly difficult to avoid stabbing pain when I cough at a time when my asthmatically reactive lungs are teetering on the backside of a virus notorious for negatively impacting breathing.
I am not a pretty sight.
If I could walk without fear of losing my footing, I’d wander down among the horses and bask in their late spring serenity.
We are fast approaching the end of Asher’s on-site training session at a kennel up north. The trainer has scheduled a call this afternoon during which we expect to learn how Asher has been faring during the previous week and what the plan is for picking him up to continue the training at home.
It would really mean a lot to me to be able to walk without pain by the time of Asher’s return.
Walking is once again the exercise that will become my primary focus.
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Relative Something 