I can hear my mother chuckling at herself after misplacing something, saying, “It’s hell getting old!” My mom was a very sharp 86 when she passed away, but she did occasionally give us gentle reminders us that she missed the energy, acuity, and multi-tasking abilities of her youth.
This morning I had a moment.
I’m visiting my sister, and we went out for dinner last night and had quite a few laughs. When we got back to her place, we stretched out on the couches and ate some Ben & Jerry’s ice cream (which neither of us should have), and watched a late movie. At some point, I got up, changed into my pajamas, turned off the lights and TV, put on my sleeping mask (there’s a full moon out there), and went to sleep.
This morning, I got up, brushed my teeth, schlepped into the kitchen and made myself some coffee, sat down and reached for my glasses. Ummm… I reached for my glasses. On the table where I always leave them when I stay here. Because I really can’t function without them. Or without squinting so hard I get a headache.
My glasses weren’t there.
I carefully examined the table, the floor around it, the couches and chairs. I checked in the bathroom and kitchen, my duffle bag, and numerous other places. Bear in mind, without them on, I wasn’t really confident I’d see them, but I looked anyway.
As soon as my sister came downstairs and joined me (she’d slipped upstairs during the night), she (with both contacts and glasses available), joined in the search. Which soon became a witch hunt. We retraced our steps, went through the trash, reached under all the chairs, and generally acted like people mildly deranged as we became increasingly frustrated. And in my case, panicky.
Crisis averted. I’ll be able to see to drive home now. I won’t live the day with a headache. My sister is my hero. My precious glasses have been returned to me.
It’s hell getting old.
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