How I Survive Being Old….one day at a time
By Patricia White

     I guess being old is relative. When you’re twenty, thirty seems old. At forty, fifty seems old, until you realize one day you have kids who are in their fifties.  Old is what my grandparents were and I sure as hail never thought I’d be old. I’ve never sat in the rocker on my front porch for more than 15 minutes at a spell.  I dye my hair a reddish-brown, have my nails done regularly, including purple toenails during football season. (Geaux Tigers) I work hard (make-up & mirrors) at looking younger than my years, wear cute up-to-the minute clothes with a surprise somewhere. Maybe a cute silver tiger around my neck. 

     My joints and muscles hurt most of the time but I keep on trucking. I even work- out occasionally  with a personal trainer….not for muscular legs and arms and forget a six-pack (unless it’s wine)  but to hopefully ward off knee replacement which I probably need…..in both knees. I keep asking why all of these ailments are happening to me. It seems so unfair. Just four short years ago I was playing tennis, Zydeco and Zumba dancing, and water aerobics, all on the same day. Then I started Pickle Ball at the YMCA, advertised as gentle on us more seasoned boys and girls. I went everyday for a week.Yep, I think Pickle Ball  got me. I woke up one morning and the only thing that didn't hurt was my hair. My first thought was, I must be getting old.

     Possibly, if I let my hair go totally white, ditched the make-up, gave away all the sexy shoes I keep rocking, regardless of bunions, fallen arches and teradactal toes, quit shopping at Chico's and started shopping at Forever Old  and SAS, I would realize my actual age and respect this aging body of mine. 

     Generally speaking, seventy-five years olds don’t feel like doing much most days, but as I said, no one told me I was old. I roll out of the bed each morning and limp to the coffee pot and my morning round of pills. Next stop is my big-soft-brown-leather chair where I pick up my laptop and check my email, then  Facebook to see what my friends and family are up to and finally any overnight texts on my iPhone . I play the solitaire challenges for the day, collect my prize tokens  then go back and rotate that sequence of events for a couple of hours.I check my chin in my chair side 20X mirror for any new prickly hairs that have sprung up overnight. I count the completed rows of my latest crochet project and determine how many rows I need to complete to meet the deadline. Say what ???
     Around 9:30 I start thinking about breakfast and give my order to  Mr. Leblanc, my main squeeze. He asks what I want to do that day. I may need yarn from Joann's, new shoes from Macy’s or I may just want to just sit and watch Netflix all day in my robe. Some days I get the urge to go to the gym, but only if I read in an email  that someone is having knee surgery or  has passed from inactivity.
     I decide around 11 a.m. to bathe and get dressed. That means, make-up, hair, jeans, top,  jewelry, the whole enchilada. If Mr. Leblanc is going to drag my decrepit arse  anywhere, I’m going to look good………You never know where Eye Witness News will show up.  And if we don't plan to go anywhere, I'll be ready if someone calls.  We are what we see in the mirror. And so it goes.  Until someone tells me I’m old, I’m going to continue this routine.  I’ll work it until it doesn’t work anymore.

Happy 4th of July and let the good times roll!