The Screened Door

We have a saying we use in the South when we want to direct someone off the premises:  Don’t let the screened door hit you in the ass on your way out.  It’s funny that the part of the country known for its good manners is the same region that’s infamous for its raw aphorisms. When it comes to saying farewell to the decade that opened with hanging chads and closed with explosive underwear, I’m not sure I trust the screened door to deliver enough kick. You won’t need me to count the ways the Naughty Naughties failed us as a nation.  I don’t need that, either; I’m already working on an optimistic post about the decade ahead.

 

For this one day, in the spirit of telling this aging stuff like it is, I’m going to indulge myself by looking back personally at the past ten years. There have been classic sixth decade passages, with some significant losses that are to be expected for this time of life.  All of them fit into my understanding of the most important developmental task of aging, which is to learn to accept with some grace the gradual peeling away of the powers and acquisitions of the first two thirds of life.  It’s not usually a pretty process and you don’t have to like it; you just have to do it without being ugly about it.  I’m shooting for that, and to see the gains that showed up along the same route.

I lost both of my parents…my mother, in July 2001, to a cancer that moved so fast and so stealthily, we did not know of it until it was too late; my father, in September 2005, by a much slower process that was pain-free and gave us lots of time together.  My beautiful daughter told me that we do not go through grief; grief goes through us.  I liken it to standing waist deep in the ocean, facing the shore: you know waves will come, but you never know exactly when the next one will arrive, how high it will be, or whether you will be able to stay on your feet for it.  I also lost two first cousins, both younger than I; these losses were cruel in their untimeliness and, particularly, because I had not been close enough to either cousin in the preceding years.  I thought I had time.  And I lost an uncle who had figured prominently in my childhood.

 

As an only child, it fell to me to manage both of my parents’ wills and estates.  I cleared out the home they had designed and built forty years earlier.  We were fortunate to have young relatives, with a small son, who wanted the house and could take good care of it, but I had moments of feeling like a homeless orphan.  My parents were the heart of prudence and had been lucky in their investments, so they left me able to retire at sixty from private practice.  The recession took a chunk out of those plans, making the retirement a mistake that couldn’t be readily undone.

 

Both of my children finished their educations and moved away into their own careers and relationships. They both live too far away to reach easily except by air.  My neighborhood has declined. Arthritis has cut a swath through my long, long walks.

 

I gained a paid-off mortgage.  And strong, good relationships with my adult children.  And two kind and funny young in-laws, two step-grandchildren, and one beloved birth grandson.  And retirement with my husband.  And the experience of being bi-coastal for a couple of years so that I could be with my daughter and her family for more than short vacations.  I’ve had the career I had always wanted, so there were no regrets or resentments in ending it.  We are not financially afraid for now and are able to help our kids out a little as they face this rude recession.

In all, I can't say that anything unfair or unimagined has occurred this decade...in my small sphere, I mean.  I’ve been helped knowing that women throughout history have buried their parents and gone on to be glad for their own lives.  And, lots of people have either survived retirement or faced believing they can never retire.  And, although painful, osteoarthritis is a fairly pedestrian ailment (pun intended). I can't complain...well, I could, but it wouldn't make a difference.

It’s been both a terrible decade and a fortunate one. Which way I feel about it depends on the barometric pressure that day.  The joy mongers can pipe down now.  I’m shooting to live up to my parents’ examples for how to do this segment of life.  They were the best role models for aging I could ever imagine...for authentic aging, that is; not for the ageist, age-avoidance model that's so often hyped as the way to go these days....you know, aging that's age-adjusted for how well you're fooling folks about how old you really are and the whole sixty-is-the-new-forty con.  That stuff needs to go the way of cardboard and cellophane 3D glasses; nobody ever really believed it, anyway. Go ahead, get me started.

 

A couple of follow ups:  The Vegan Challenge lasted, almost unbesmirched, from August through November of this year.  At first, I thought I’d starve, but I didn’t…I didn’t even lose weight.  I’ve tried returning to normal carnivorousness, but I just can’t love it anymore.  Vegan eating is a pain in the butt, because you spend a lot more time thinking about what to eat, finding the ingredients, and preparing the meals; most of my friends and family found it burdensome in some fashion; it failed to meet the hype for better health; but, somehow, I find I prefer it.  My daughter-in-law said, “Aw, just be a vegetarian and get over yourself,” and I think she’s right.  


Oh, and the people who looked at our house Christmas week did like it, but the back yard wasn’t big enough for them...too big for us, too small for them.  The realtor who showed the house said it was beautiful and she'd show it again (scrambled ambivalence!).  I bet the Happy Holiday Home fragrance spray did the trick for her.  Yeah, I sprayed it.  You knew I would.

I’m working on that next post, the one where I share what’s got me excited and hopeful for our country in the next decade.  What’s creating hope for you? And I’m longing to know, Dear Reader, whether you make resolutions and what they are.  I’ve been making the same one since 1973:  Get goofier.  I’ve been successful every year

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As for you, Two-Thousand-And-Nine, don’t let the screened door hit you in the ass on your way out.

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