When I was a kid...

I'm still young enough at 51 to appreciate "old people" jokes. Ed, 8 years older than I am, says they are too true to be funny. For instance, a cursory search of the Internet brought up these gems:

You know you're old when...

• Your friend compliments you on your new alligator shoes and you're barefoot.
• You don't care where your spouse goes, just as long as you don't have to go along.
  
• "Getting a little action" means, "I don't need to take any fiber today."
  
• You are cautioned to slow down by the doctor instead of the police.
  
• You realize that caution is the only thing you care to exercise.
  
• Your sweetie says, "Let's go upstairs and make love," and you answer, "Honey, I can't do both!"
  
• The gleam in your eye is the sun shining on your bifocals.
  
• You look forward to a dull evening.
  
• Your house is too big. Your medicine box not big enough.
  
• When you say something to your kids that your mother used to say to you (and you always hated it).
  
• When you step off a curb and look down one more time to make sure the street is still there.
  
• It takes twice as long to look half as good.
  

Now for me, I know I'm old when I find myself saying,"When I was a kid...." I grew up in Memphis, so I can't say I had to walk home from school in waist-deep snow, but I can say that I walked home from school, and it wasn't a short walk, either! I can say I was allowed to chew gum rarely, and even that meant the stick of Juicy Fruit was torn in half to share with my sister. I only had Cokes (or sodas, or soft drinks, or whatever you call them in your region) on the weekend. And - I have to reminisce here as the Christmas buying season is approaching - I had very simple toys.

Back when I was young, Chatty Cathy was the most technologically advanced doll one could have. You pulled the string and - magic - she talked! And she didn't even require batteries! Except for Chatty Cathy and Chatty Baby (my sister's doll), our other dolls and toys were pretty quiet.

One of our favorite games was jacks with a red ball made of real rubber that could bounce to the ceiling. It was our mother's jacks ball when she was a girl, and she guarded it as the precious entity it was. It was a grand occasion indeed when she gave us permission to play with it.

We played board games like checkers and Monopoly and Clue. We played gin rummy and slap jack. We played Password.

When we tired of our games and toys, we formed a club - The Tiffin Spy Agency (TSA), whose members were just the two of us. We had meetings and dues and a theme song and everything. We made up our own play - I have to laugh now, because our characters were two old people! We also created our own family Thanksgiving service, complete with sermon, hymns, and handmade bulletins.

Now I'm getting the Christmas catalogs in the mail, I am perusing them for ideas for Caroline, and Rachel tells me, "I want to steer away from things that make noise." I thought, well, that shouldn't be too hard. So I went through the catalogs and store ads and nixed everything with the warning "Batteries required." The remaining list was quite short. My head is full of memories of toys I had growing up, then toys my children had growing up, and now it's a whole new world. I believe when Matt (born in 1983) was young, Teddy Ruxpin was just hitting the market - the bear that held a cassette tape who told stories and his lips moved. Now it's amazing the things toys can do. Even books have buttons to push where you don't even have to read them - they read aloud themselves - complete with sound effects!

I look at the changing world with awe. And as much as Rachel was determined to stay away from batteries, she finally had to give in, I think. She just bought Caroline a play kitchen that makes bacon sizzling noises and "speaks" words in English, French, and Spanish.

Ed was determined to find a "simple" toy for Caroline and had to look through the Amish catalog. He found a spinning top. I think he ought to get it. Caroline would be the envy of her toddler group with such a unique possession; I think it would fascinate her little friends. And then Caroline will be heroine of the hour when the neighborhood homes run out of batteries and Caroline has the only toy on the block that they could play with!

(This post has been edited because my detail-oriented sister sent me a Hedda doll picture and insisted I post it (see her comment below). I thought the jacks ball was red; it must be the fact everyone tells me that I look at my childhood with rose-colored glasses!)

Aging Part 2: The numbers game

I have a followup appointment in February for a recheck on my cholesterol, which is, of course, currently too high. My doctor is a dear and very comprehensive, but I'm afraid right now my health care concern (besides the mysterious thyroid nodule) is essentially reduced to two numbers - total cholesterol 259 and LDL 179. Until February at least, that's where the focus will be.

I am intrigued by the commercials for cholesterol-lowering medications where the participants have their cholesterol numbers taped to their chests, especially the one where the man tries outrun his number but it catches up with him and attaches itself securely to his shirt.

In my profession of medical transcription, it certainly can be a numbers game. When dictators get going with lab tests and such, numbers and discussion of numbers can easily take up half a patient's report. In my case, it's the cholesterol and the size of the thyroid nodule. In Ed's case, it's blood sugar. The pronouncement of his hemoglobin A1c (the test that gives the doctor an idea of what his blood sugar has been running for the last 3 months) is the highlight of his office visit. Ed knows that a sense of jubilation or utter failure will descend on him when he leaves that office, according to the number. He can't hide from the number. It squeals on him.

Add to our specific problem numbers other important numbers - the numbers of temperature, blood pressure, pulse, respirations, and - of course, I wouldn't forget this one - the almighty weight, or the new variation thereof, BMI.

I am not suggesting that to our physicians we are only a conglomeration of numbers; on the contrary, the numbers are the tools they need to make diagnoses and plan care.

I am suggesting, however, that how we feel about our own numbers, specifically our ages, may have some bearing on how we make our own diagnoses and plan our own care. And here, my acquaintance Rod's favorite word comes in - judgment. Boy, it's not nice to make judgments about other people, but you can really get into trouble when making them for yourself!

On an MT site I frequent, there is a recent discussion of age and what it means to get older. It runs the gamut, of course, for everything is relative. I write about what life is like at 51, and another lady is scared of turning 40, and yet another lady is already disgusted with photos of herself at 36. (Message to Rod: As pretty as the sequoia trees are, and as peaceful as you are with the aging concept - those are trees and you are a male and it is somewhat different for women in our culture. This is not to say that is a good or bad thing, but it is different.)

However, numbers do not create our identities. Neither do a lot of other things.

I think the problem so many women have with empty nest syndrome is that their whole identities have been based on their role as "full-time mothers." All of a sudden, they have to find out their true identity not based on a role. We read about problems with women identifying only with their profession - then they lose that or retire and have to rethink who they are. She might be a wife and then the word "widow" suddenly defines her to the world. Even Hollywood actresses have a hard time with the transition from "cover girl" to "character actress."

Have you ever heard someone discuss aging and say, "At age ___ I came into my own"? I always thought that expression was strange. Came into my own? My own what? The more I think about it, the more it sounds like identity to me. She came into her own identity - she realized who she really was - outside of the numbers, the roles she played in life, the labels society had given her, the fears that had ruled her. She came into her own wisdom, her own sense of power and accomplishment, her acceptance of the past and contentment regarding the future. She came into the knowledge that she can flow with changes and transitions and come out with her true self intact.

"I'm coming into my own." I like that. Now to work on that cholesterol...