Getting Old Is Not for the Weak
Updated: Mar 29, 2022
Rolling out of bed this morning after a good night’s sleep, my back jumps out of place. Going to bed fine, this morning I list about ten degrees to the left with pain pounding with every step. I find comfort in my recliner, but it stiffens after a half-hour so I have to move before then or find myself stuck until someone helps me up.
I remember reading when my back was strong and spry about elderly people complaining growing old is not for the weak. One old man telling me, “The young cannot handle being old.” My laughter at these stories in my twenties does nothing to prepare me for the pain at sixty-three as I appear as a walking boomerang.
Now, my wife and daughter stare caringly at my pain and then angrily glare at me when they have to do the cooking and cleaning of the kitchen. They lovingly nurse me when my back fails to keep me upright, but they do not have to like it and they let me know about it. Working together, they create a delicious dinner of stuffed shells with ricotta and broccoli smothered in a parmesan cream sauce. I am a lucky man to have two beautiful women looking after me.
Did I mention my dog is a Karen? Three months ago, we started hosting our small group for dinner and Bible study. Two months ago, I began leading the small group in the study. I have an unusual manner of conducting the study and yet, everyone seems to like my style for it brings them into the story.
However, Ginger being a Karen sees herself as the center of attention beginning at meal preparation at four o’clock. Then the guests arrive and she goes crazy having everyone place the whole attention on her. This means whoever is speaking, she paces quickly to them expecting rubs and scratches. After three hours of socializing, people begin to exit for home and they most certainly have to say goodbye to her.
By nine in the evening, the house clears out of guests and our resident Karen finds exhaustion completely overtakes her body from bouncing around since four in the afternoon. She pops outside for quick relief and then plops on the couch into a tight ball of fur while sleep permeates her gumption.
Around ten, the day closes for me and I head to bed. Ginger does not follow and I go down to get her. “Come on, it’s bedtime,” encouraging her to come to bed. Not a sound or movement from the furball. So, a gentle jostle and still no movement. Frustrated, a forceful nudge and “Nooommnn, grrrruuunnn” in a low guttural leave me alone from a Karen without twitching a muscle. So I pulled out the big guns and send mom down to get her.
Learn more about me at my website: www.dannymacauthor.com