Growing old doesn’t bother me. I know it is a given and I accept it. It’s the changes that concerns me.
Every year my hair grows grayer and my beard turns whiter. When I get out of bed in the mornings it sounds like someone poured milk on Rice Krispies.
The biggest disappointment is not being able to do the things I used to be able to do.
My strength wanes every year. Fifty pound feed sacks now feel like a hundred pounds. I easily run out of breath and my “Git” along seems to have done got up and got along all by itself. I can no longer play “pull my finger” because it is like playing Russian Roulette. The word “depends” takes on a whole new meaning. It now is known as a protective under garment. You now plan your outings around bathrooms. When I go fishing the number of steps decides where I will be fishing instead of where the fish may be hanging out. The song Gimme Three Steps is no longer about a jealous boyfriend and a man with hair colored yellow.
Growing up all I heard about was the “Golden Years” and I can tell you now the only thing Golden is my doctor’s wallet.
Finally I’ve started thinking a lot about the here after. I walk into a room thinking now what did I come in here after.
Now you have my thoughts on aging. Good thing is I am still on the right side of the dirt and hope to be for sometime yet. I just have to take it one day at a time and put on my big boy panties and say I can do this!
doubledacres 