Progress?

As you age, all sorts of wonderful things are supposed to occur – increased wisdom, compassion, patience. I can’t claim much improvement in those areas, but I’m definitely becoming less vain, or at least I spend less time in front of a mirror.  

Quiet Epidemic

Today’s return to my water aerobics BFFs connected in a small way to Tuesday’s exercise class at a neighboring Senior Center. 

Moving Ahead

A friend and I have become exercise groupies.

The woman who leads our YMCA Monday and Wednesday water aerobics group also teaches Boomer Bootcamp, a more active on-land class of aerobics, weights, and balance exercises. Our usual Friday water group has been taken over by water Zumba  - exercise and music in the pool, which in past experience was us in the pool doing precious little while an instructor pranced and posed by the side of the pool, very full of her own wonderfulness.

          Instead we tried the Friday Bootcamp offered at the same time. We liked it so much that yesterday we followed our Friday instructor to a neighboring town’s senior center where she teaches the same class.

          This was a smaller, frailer looking group. To be fair, since this was a senior center, not a Y, the other participants may not have had exercise as their first priority, unlike a member of the Y.

          The class was mostly in Capri’s and neatly pressed Ts, as though they’d just stopped off from the grocery store; one woman wandered off midway through, presumably to rejoin the beading class next door. Two other women chatted continuously, only occasionally lifting a weight or doing a half-hearted lunge.

          I did find R, a friend from the past, someone who had worked in the same high school I had. She was the exception to the rest of the class, matching the teacher leg lift for leg lift, marching in place at top speed, and swinging 8 pound weights around as though they weighed the same as my puny 3’s. 

          We got caught up on what our families had been up to in the 25+ years since I’d last seen her. Her second husband had died, but her four children were doing well. I told her about our new granddaughters, and that they’d brought my grandparent bragging rights up to 5.

          “You must have scads of your own,” I said.

          “Not scads really – I have 12.”

          I’d forgotten her skill at one-upsmanship.

          During the water break, I was sweating and gulping at my water bottle while R was dabbing lightly at her barely misty brow.

I commented on how little she’d changed since we’d last seen each other.

As we turned to pick up our weights again, she said, “You know, I’m 93.”

Finite Mind

In a span of 36 hours we’ve gone from fanning ourselves on the porch like Scarlett O’Hara to huddling in front of the gas fireplace. And why not? It’s June in Massachusetts, after all.

Walk of Ages

“My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was sixty. She's ninety-seven now, and we don't know where the heck she is.” 
― Ellen DeGeneres

          I was on a side street in our little downtown Venice (Florida, that is) waiting for My Guy to pick me up after I’d done my volunteering stint. I had found a seat on a convenient wall in the shade, an excellent spot for people watching.

          It could be due to this week’s sudden attack of plantar fasciitis in my left heel, but I began to detect a theme.

          Across the street a couple who may have been in their 70s were working their way down the sidewalk. He had what looked to be a hip issue of some kind and was moving slowly. His athletic appearing wife followed about two steps behind, with what looked to be an unhurried stroll, but which was actually perfectly adjusted to his awkward pace.

          A car pulled up and parallel parked in front of me. An overweight (and, again, older – I’m in Florida, after all) couple struggled out of either side of the car. He left her behind, crossing the street with a rolling shuffle ahead of her, but then I thought it interesting that he stopping at the curb to help her up after she finally toiled across to him. He then took off again, with her ten feet or so behind, both of them walking with difficulty. It had kind of an every man for himself sort of vibe.

          Then to my left, a decidedly elderly couple – late 80s? – appeared on the sidewalk. They were trim in their tasteful khaki; I could picture them later in the afternoon on a green lawn drinking gin and tonics. They walked with the gait of people who likely kept themselves fit with daily morning and evening constitutionals. But as they passed arm in arm, you could still see a slight hesitancy, a bit of caution, when they reached the curb.

A Step Forward

One thing I can say about aging. I’ve definitely become more stable. At least in the category of high winds.

Encounters of the 60ish Kind

Florida can be a funny place. 

Maintenance

  

        With a lifetime of head-to-toe freckles, I’ve given little thought to any new spots that arrived.

The good oldies never get old

Familiar Faces

          I’ve grown resigned to the wonky knee, the shock of seeing my mother in an unexpected glimpse of a store mirror, and the difficulty of staying out and awake past 10 at night.

Age and Trust

          So the other day at the pool a neighbor whom I barely know turned to me and inquired whether I had a doctor locally.

Snap Judgment

All of life is learning

  

        This week included my third visit to my eye doctor. 

Razzle Dazzle 'Em

        Last night was filled with fishnet stockings and pouty red lips – so no, not our usual Friday night. 

Oral exercises

This morning I finally got back to the YMCA. 

Use it up, Wear it out, Make it do, Do without

     My family had the philosophy that if you owned it, you used it.

The Curious Cases of Judi and Jean

Two more of my friends have just made that seismic shift of moving on from the familiar, something I’ve written about before. A Change for the Better

Dangers of Capitalism

     We all prepared as though for a military operation.

Thank You, Birthday

          The phone rang at 7:30 am today, and when caller ID showed me that it was from my daughter, my immediate thought was, “what’s wrong?”

Nice of them to name an island after me . . . .

Yesterday we zipped over to Martha’s Vineyard.