"I'm Eighty-Eight Years Old!"

I have a hard time imagining myself eighty-eight years old. There are times when I get up from the computer and I'm so stiff I can hardly walk. There are some mornings I get out of bed and the pain in my back paralyzes me. There are afternoons I'm so tired I can't sit up. Some days I just can't imagine how I will make it to my senior years.

If I do live that long, what will it be like? Naturally, I imagine the worst. In a wheelchair? Frail and helpless. Will I be living alone worried how I would protect myself if someone decided to break in to my house?* Will I be living in a care center with other seniors barely able to function? With severe senility? Dementia? Alzheimer's? Parkinson's? Will anyone visit me? Will I be utterly alone and dependent? Living in a ratty old nightgown and suffering from incontinence?  Will the nurses treat me badly? Will I need to worry about walking down the street in fear of tripping and breaking my hip? Will someone view me as an easy target, unable to fight back, and mug me?**  Will my senior years be filled with fear and worry?

OR will I be energetic and healthy? Will I go for walks everyday in the park? Will I still be picking u-pick berries in the summer? Will I still live in my house, alone and self-sufficient, and plant my garden every spring. Will I be proud of my giant zucchini? Will I wear a bright, red knitted hat?

That's my neighbor, Hazel. Today she came over for a visit. I am having a garage sale in a couple weeks and she wanted to get rid of some of her books. I volunteered to sell them for her. She gave me two big bags of books and claimed they were too heavy for me to carry. So she carried one while I carried the other and escorted me all the way to my house. I kept assuring her I could carry both, but defiantly she said, "No, you can't." I know better than to argue with her. I gave her a tour of my garden and she "ooo-ed and aaah-ed" appropriately. Then she said out of the blue and full of pride while surrounded by pumpkin vines,

"I'm eighty-eight years old!"

I said, "That is an amazing accomplishment! Should I be so lucky to live that long!"

Hazel often updates me on her age so it wasn't much of a surprise, but she sounded so surprised and delighted when she said it. Her joy was infectious. She went on to explain she had no idea why she has lived so long. Out of five siblings, she's the only one left. She hopes to live to be ninety. I hope she does, too.

I do wish I knew her secret. Not necessarily how she lived so long, but how she lived so long and maintained her independence and health. I wanted to ask her questions about being afraid or feeling frail and helpless, but it felt too intrusive. Instead, I gave her kudos and applause for such an outstanding accomplishment.

Hazel's neighbor, Irene, lives across the street and they have been friends for over fifty years. Last year when I took Hazel blueberry picking she told me, "Irene is getting old." Irene is eighty-six. HA! Both ladies walk every morning around the park. Irene also lives alone and she still drives. I see her out in her yard clipping hedges, mowing lawns, pulling weeds, and painting her porch. It amazes me. Don't get me wrong, she moves really, really slowly, but she's still out there doing it. She says it keeps her young. She also has an awesome sense of humor. I always tell them both I'm available if they ever need help with anything, but neither has ever taken me up on the offer.

One day I came walking around the corner to see Irene painting her fence. Really!!?? If I asked if she needed help, she would have said no. I would have felt I was being disrespectful not to listen to her. So...I didn't ask. I turn and left before she saw me, quickly walked home, changed into my paint clothes, grabbed a paint brush and joined her.  She tried to get me to go away and I stood my ground. "Too late. I'm helping. I'm already here and working." We got it done in record time. She doesn't understand - I'm hoping some young whipper-snapper offers me help when I'm her age. I'm working on future karma.

When I grow up I want to be just like them. Full of life, active and independent. I plan to live to be eighty-nine.

* A few years ago two drug addicts broke into an eighty-year-old woman's house thinking she had money. They hit her over the head and killed her. This didn't happen in, say, New York or Detroit. This happened in my little town.

**A year or so ago I saw security camera footage of a woman in her eighties mugged. The jerk punched her in the face and took her purse in the lobby of her apartment building. That gives me nightmares.