Becoming the Old Girl

We made each other laugh and shared stories; wherever we were, we were home as long as we were together. I loved my life with him, loved being with him.
Adjusting to being single, that’s an adjustment! Without your other half life loses that cheery glow of sharing. At a time in your life when you’ve lost the people close to you, who cared about what you said or thought, you can end up depressed because nobody gives a damn. People who you can connect with remain on the planet, but you don’t know them.
Want to hear something funny? Recently people have asked if I’ve re-married, yet. It hasn’t quite been four years and casually people have said, “You married again?” The first time someone asked, I felt my eyes pop out of my head. What!!!
I suppose what amuses me the most about that question is that to other people finding a mate, someone to meld with just happens.
If the truth be told, I would enjoy a flirtation, maybe even a kiss, but by our senior years men and women have been so beat up by each other that damaged in transit is stamped on foreheads.
My journey without my husband has become about self-discovery. To do something until I say that I don’t want to do it anymore, put it down and try something else to see if it pleases will surprise you with the number of things quickly discarded.
Contrary to what I was taught as a child, you don’t have to stick with something if you don’t want to; knowing that gives me freedom.
Losing my inner circle within a few years has painfully given me the freedom to explore more life choices if I have the courage and will. As the years march, I no longer feel required to have either courage or will, but life is more interesting with I find.
Transitioning to retirement, old age feels like from toddler to child or teenager to adult; I’ve skinned my knees. Hated it, but here I am no longer a wife, a business woman, and on and on; I’m the not so little old lady wondering what I want to do. Who’s scared?
We are what we do, so I’m not too much at this stage. In the almost four years of widowhood, I’ve exercised at the gym the most. A sadness overcomes me when I think about all the wonderful food I no longer eat; utter desperation, all those poor baby things and I know I’ll break all the rules when I hit New Orleans, so hush.
Live music coaxes me out of the house and I’ve planned trips around music I wanted to hear, so I’m a live music fan, willing to travel. This is new!
Travel to me encompasses more than the new and wonderful sites; peeking at people’s lives in different places fascinates me. Sometimes I have to get a grip on my energy; I get excited like a puppy wagging its tail. It’s embarrassing to be the just too happy to be here senior lady.
I have some old friends and some new friends, so I am social, but I don’t feel needy for companionship. That’s huge for me.
Sometimes this self-discovery journey makes me feel like a kid. I’m the old girl.

Bye-Bye Bread

No bread for three weeks except for one violation a week ago, which caused my eyes to swell and nose to run, so there’s no doubt that I should avoid bread. No warm toast in the morning or sandwich at lunch, and forget about a roll with dinner; that’s so sad. Boo-hoo!!

I’ll have no oyster Po-boys in New Orleans, but who needs anything other than oysters? Will I have the strength to turn down the bread basket with dinner? Who knows?

I can’t seem to get enough carbs from vegetables; twice the past week I’ve had low blood sugar with pre-headache flashing lights before my eyes. Fried bananas with cinnamon cured it tastefully. All these raw vegetables don’t fill me up, so for the first time in a couple of years, I’ve been eating meat. Skirt steak, kale, spinach, cucumber, and artichoke made a wonderful salad; just the kind of entrée that makes me want to order dark chocolate cake for dessert.  I sautéed a whole container of chicken livers for breakfast; none were saved for the dogs.

My back hurts hard today, but it’s raining so no surprise. My morning stretches help and soon I’ll at the gym lifting weights and feeling good. 

Bad Back Getting Better

To rid myself of back pain, that’s what I want. Let’s face it; you know it hurts when all you want to do is lay in bed. Contrary to my negative self-image, I’m not a lazy person.

In my fifties, I practically ran my business from my water bed. Without pain pills, I never would have been able to show my dogs to a win. Over a lifetime injuries large and small accumulate in the body. A little ouch here, a little ouch there bones record, giving us bone spurs and arthritis later.

Medical doctors gave me pain pills. Osteopathic doctors and soft tissue therapy helped bit by bit; oh, I best not forget my wonderful acupuncturist without whom I might not be walking.

From a young age an iron worker built like a body builder beat me regularly; being in car accidents, thrown by horses, and other adventures added more than a fair share. Life is a participation sport; you’re going to take some licks.

In my fifties I felt old, ancient; I didn’t know how my aunt then in her seventies could go on weekend trail rides. Strong pain medication fortified me on the few short rides I did.

In my fifties and envisioning a time in assisted living or a nursing home felt bitter. Hated it! Fifty, you could call that my decade of surgeries; after the last, I wasn’t healing. My darling, the man with debilitating pain took such good care of me.

I have read that if your grip is so weak you can’t open a water bottle, you’re at risk of a heart attack. Arthritis in my hands prevented me from bottle opening. The statement made me think the end is near.

Here’s where sing halleluiah enters the picture for me; since exercising for the last four years back pain that had once crippled me becomes less all the time. As muscles tighten holding my fat stuff in a better position, I hurt less.

At times I’d given up and quit only to return to exercise when it hurt more. To exercise after my husband died demanded every bit of will I had left. So much of me wanted to say, “F--- it.”

What does a never give up person do when they get old?

You marshal on as you learned to throughout your life.

So now under flesh that shakes like Jello, I have some solid muscle. Approaching seventy feeling way better than fifty is fantastic. When you tame a pain that medicated with strong pain relievers slows to a four level into three aspirins will cover stronger pain, you can cope with it just fine. Decreasing the jiggle may be a never ending journey, but who cares? I can carry a bag of dog food in the house without hurting. 

Not Too Bad is my Best These Days

As usual, the morning web post told me how to lose weight and reduce inflammation; apparently, I’m doing everything right. Hot dog!!

No, I’m not going to bitch about how fat I still am; I feel good and all things considered, I’m happy. But a woman likes to look good in her clothes and dumpy doesn’t do it for me. Remember the fire hydrant looking villains from Dr. Who, the Daleks? I look like a Dalek wearing a wig and a dress; that’s no one’s best image. But at sixty-eight who cares?

Hoping to go to Spain next year, so I’m practicing my Spanish attempting short sentences whenever possible, but all I hear is, “Don’t worry you don’t have to speak Spanish; I speak English.” Where were they ten years ago when my Spanish was practically non-existent? I’ve learned a good number of words in Spanish, so when someone says a whole paragraph to me and I don’t recognize a word, it overwhelms me with a feeling of stupid. 

Congratulate me for abstaining from bread for two whole, long weeks. Twice my sinuses have drained suddenly and dramatically with a foul taste in my mouth and stomach. The first time I thought it was an allergic reaction, but no swelling in the morning. After the second bout of drainage, I noticed that sinus areas were not as tender to my touch. Halleluiah! That was getting aggravating.

The results for all my hard effort came in the form of blood pressure in the normal range and reasonable test scores. My cholesterol tested a tad high, so I adjusted my diet accordingly, I believe.

Who knew I’d retire in time to be alone and almost broke trying to stay healthy, but there you have it. It’s funny that in my productive years I gained a fortune to lose it as my golden years began; what I miss most is my husband’s loving presence, but even that loss no longer holds the screaming sadness of nightmares.

It’s time to admit I’m glad to still be alive and healthy. My life has been filled with love and my career spent in pursuit of my passions; I’ve been blessed. Money comes as a byproduct of being good at something people want; it’s an ethical way to a good living. It’s also no guarantee to being able to keep what you’ve earned when rich crooks walk among us. Yes, I’m still pissed; you’d think I’d learn to get over things.

This weekend will go to the dogs, which makes me happy.

Please, enjoy yours.

Fighting Arthritis Pain

Off and on, sometimes excellent and other times lackluster, over the last four years I’ve exercised regularly; my back doesn’t hurt as badly, but it still hurts and I’m still fat. At the moment I’m grinding a tennis ball into a pressure point in my back for all I’m worth; ain’t life grand?

 As older people we stand differently, a little crooked or maybe slightly humped with head forward; in my fifties, I began a mean dowager’s hump. Arthritis limits range of motion or causes pain; taut muscles try to align the body correctly. This hurts, but then it gets better; that’s my priceless reward.

Rolling your head one way and then the other, a common part of stretch routines, tells where that devil arthritis invaded the neck. Have you ever rolled your head to a sudden “ouch” stop? Surprise, there it is and it hurts.

Swollen face and achy joints in the morning demanded I do something, so two weeks ago I had my last piece of bread. About five days bread free severe withdrawal struck. I got so crabby I couldn’t stand myself. I wanted to go kick a can. My symptoms had caused me to give up my prized comfort food; oh, harsh world.

In the last two weeks, I haven’t woken severely swollen; that’s good. Swelling around my eyes may be ever so slightly decreased or it may just be wishful thinking.

I had bread at every meal; the smell, texture, and feel of it on the tongue gave joy to the day. Cream cheese on kale doesn’t have the same ring as cream cheese on toasted French bread or on a toasted bagel with lox. In another week it should be out of my system so I can test if it’s bad for me. It just gets better. Vegetables replacing bread in my diet must be a good thing; just never mind how sad it makes me feel.

Pain-free, that’s my goal.

Almost 70 Meets Almost 20

The other day at the gym, a pretty twenty-something asked why I worked out after I completed a hundred squats. The look of incongruity covered my face. Huh? The answer required a few seconds of thought because people speak Spanish too fast for me to understand at first. Exercise is the best thing in the world for me and I love it.

This little girl at the age where her body hasn’t even rounded out, looking like a skinny teenager said in Spanish, “Por salud? For health?”  In her eyes I could see her sincerity; she wasn’t being a smartass. None the less I could read in her face the wonder why a fat old lady worked so hard. After all, you’re still old, why not just rest on the porch until your time comes? How sweet, her big brown eyes pitied me.  

After processing the magical mystery tour of a young girl’s thoughts all I could do was nod and say, “Yeah, for health.”

Her face scrunched up like she wanted to cry. Oh, shit, she thinks I’m going to die. Lord in heaven, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young and that stupid, but now it comes back to me like the memory of skin so soft.

“I exercise so I can continue to be strong enough to do things around the house.”

Her look said, “Like what?”

“I buy dog food in fifty-pound bags. If I didn’t exercise moving it would hurt my back.” Perhaps this practical answer would justify my presence at the gym.

Her face said loudly, “You poor thing!”

Who, me, came the internal reply. Believe how glad I felt that she didn’t verbalize this!

What could I do, but return to my workout? Her big kind eyes made contact with mine and we smiled as we moved to a new machine. She lowered the machine settings by about half each time she got on one I’d just finished. About the third time, I smiled and winked at her as she adjusted the weight. “Yeah, you’ve got a long road ahead of you; enjoy!”

Healthy Routine or Good Times

Been a goodish girl for days and this arthritis still beating my butt; how long does it take for inflammation to exit the body?

During exercise I felt the endorphin rush; I’m such a fool to discontinue what allows me to hurt less. DUH!!

How quickly I let my healthy routine slide surprises me. For those few days I wanted to indulge in dark chocolate and fun, to be a bad girl. I can picture my mother saying, “See what happens.”

I remember my husband tossing his healthy routine for more good food than he should have been eating. He lost a toe over it.

Exercising through arthritis pain hurts, so I seldom get carried away exercising like a mad woman. The last three days are an exception because it felt so good to be back.

Spoke with my mom who is going to be ninety-four on Friday, the thirteenth. I wished her happy birthday and thanked her for the genes. That I’d be pleased to take after her amused both of us which made an ironic moment we appreciated, damn few of those in a lifetime.

It’s time to go get a replacement part for my rooftop water tank or go to the gym. Perhaps, I shouldn’t exercise four days in a row after being off two weeks, but I need an endorphin rush and dark chocolate cake is out of the question. Mmmm, I shouldn’t think about that too long.

Enjoy your day.

Company

Company came; company went. Company wore me out. Out the door by eight to be there at nine every morning felt a bit much when coupled with getting back late each night.

Regular exercise gives me stamina, so I informed my companion of my need. “You can workout anytime you want before eight.” She told me as a matter of fact. She had our days planned. I tried to comply, but couldn’t drag myself to the gym before eight with breakfast, shower, and dress, so off I went another day without my exercise, but the next day.

“We need to leave soon. It’s going to be another day wasted because you won’t leave on time.”

Grit my teeth; stifle the scream wanting to leap out, every aching bone in my body instantly got pissed. “I’m not going,” I said. “You go, have a good time. I’ll catch up with you later if I feel better.”

“I’m your guest,” she thundered. “I expected to go with you. How do you expect me to get there? I came to see…”

Alas, my nice isn’t as deep as I’d like it to be; I interrupted her.

“You’re a grown woman; take a cab. Can’t you understand I hurt?”

There must be a list of telltale signs of an only child. Perhaps, I should have consulted it.

Walking at breakneck speed so we can see everything or standing on the corner unable to keep up wasn’t the fun adventure I’d hoped for, but pressed on gamely.

Note to self: establish ground rules before company comes.

I WILL be taking the time to exercise. I WILL rest as necessary.

If I don’t want to do something you want, go without me. I will try my best to please my guest, but my limitations need to be respected. We will share what we can and come prepared to follow your agenda without me if I can’t. I mean no offense.

Despite problems, minor skirmishes, and occasional bad language we parted on a positive note. Rough edges come with deep souls. Absent bad intent, all is forgiven by both. Friends are too few.

Weighty Dilemma

Serious describes five workouts at the gym and Zumba twice in the same week. Saturday exercise hurt; I usually stop short of pain. My triceps still ache. Rest on Sunday seemed appropriate.

My mouth consumes too much quality protein; I’m not a junk food kind of girl. Smoked Salmon doubles down on decay the second you open the package. It’s a sin to waste. Bread, give me bread under starry skies above or any place else. Chocolate most dark and decadent too seldom passes my puckered lips or pudge face I’d really be.

I navigated under the opinion that I didn’t care about my weight; I wanted to be stronger and for my back to hurt less. Exercise vastly improved both. My mood almost always improves after exercise. Actually I believed my weight would spiral slowly downward with regular exercise; in three years it hasn’t.

When you eat a healthy diet, you expect to lose weight, but I haven’t lost a damn pound. Apparently, I’m too good to me.

My blood pressure is good; eating remains a source of pleasure. What the hell am I supposed to do?

Monday morning Zumba, and then, lunch followed by the gym. Let’s see what happens.  

Its a Bitch

Some days the lure of the sofa is great; joints scream,

“Don’t move! Or I’ll really hurt you.”

Collapsed comfortably, it’s difficult to protest. The curiosity spark missing any mark lands on barren ground. Loathsome laziness grabs my butt. Remember; do nothing Saturday has favored day status. Yes.

Saturdays spent reading, writing or sleeping are joyous to be sure, but today that’s not the motivation. Today, I just don’t have the oomph.

To my morning set of exercises, I added a set of twenty where I pick a basketball off the floor, raise it to my waist, and then, above my head. That action immediately raised awareness of several stiff spots in my back.

Rainy days are hell for arthritis suffers; let me hear you bitch!!

When I get out of the car I can’t put weight on my left leg for a couple of seconds, but after a few steps, I’m good.

If I give in to a do little or nothing day because my arthritis hurts, it’s always harder to work through later, so this laziness must be overcome if I have any sense at all.

As the Brits say, “Bloody hell!”