It is kind of funny now that I think about it, how I never disclosed my actual age growing up. As a pre-teen when somebody asked me my age, I would answer, “I’m almost 13.” When I was 17, my answer would invariably be, “I’ll get my driver’s license next year when I turn 18,” the age required to obtain a driver’s license in Norway. However, my older brother Moritz would never let my twin brother and I forget the fact that he was older, in fact way older than us, according to him. He was three and a half years older and bragged that he had the wisdom of Odin and the power of Thor.
After having turned 18, I would say, “in three years I’ll be 21, the magic age, the age where a Norwegian should be fully matured.” Yeah right!
After having turned 21, my responses to the age question would be that my 22nd birthday is coming up, the same for all the other birthdays in my twenties. Then I made 30. Wow! I’m getting into my prime and eyeing 40 up there on the hill of life. After having rounded 40 I’d be pushing 50, which is at the top of the hill. Yay! I crested the hill and made 50. Then I slid downward to 60 and I’m currently stumbling through 70.
Seventy is the age that I had heard about in my younger years. The myth states I’d be wearing dentures and swigging Geritol. But that seems not to be the case. For one, Geritol is no longer available, and secondly the dentists now provide teeth implant procedures; so much for the myth.
Welcome to my virtual reality where I’m enjoying a steady intake of stool softeners and prune juice, a heart healthy diet, a loving wife and a faithful dog.
I have heard of various mental exercises to maintain a keen and well-functioning mind. I play computer chess every morning; no cheating, the computer won’t let me. I follow that with solving a couple of crossword puzzles, and then I work on my writing. One of my younger friends once asked me during a telephone conversation if I knew how to keep an old fart in suspense, and when I honestly answered that I did not, he had the nerve to say that he would tell me the next day.
Marion insisted that I take a smartness test. I got the first answer wrong. The question was: “What does the acronym UFO stand for?” I couldn’t help myself and answered: “UFO equals US President Farts Often.” I do know the right answer. It is “hmm…. Useless Frightening Octopus.”
The next question was: “You are driving your SUV with eight people, you drop off four at the pool, but you pick up two more who want to be dropped at the gym. At the gym three people get off and one gets on. At the library three people get off. Who’s driving the SUV?” Again, I gave the wrong answer, because all these people getting on and off confused me, so I said: “Beats me,” whereas the answer should have been “You.”
It is sort of common knowledge that short-term memory disappears when one gets older. But I’m happy to be able to dispel that myth. My short-term memory has improved, because now I can clearly remember that I forgot to remember what I should have remembered.
Marion also has a great memory. She remembers that I should have remembered and remembers to remind me about remembering what I forgot to remember.
We’re busy planting our garden, and it looks great. We have all our potatoes planted, corn, onions and beets. I like beets, but it beats me that my son doesn’t. Anyway, I have always called a spade a spade; that is until yesterday when I stepped on the blade and got smacked by the handle. Now I have two words for it, the second word is shovel.
Now that we live on our pensions and have to closely watch our expenses, I’m seriously considering implementing an old Scottish tradition. When we have company over for a meal, especially breakfast, I’d heat up all the knives, that way nobody will be able to load up on butter.
At my last doctor’s appointment, the nurse asked me what my weight was at my heaviest. I told her 340 pounds give or take. Then she asked me my lowest weight ever. I had to be honest with her, so I said as far as I know that would be seven pounds and six ounces. I have watched my food intake, or I should say the food that I don’t intake, you know all that good stuff you get at your favourite burger joint. I now tip the scales at 261 pounds, that is 118 kilos if you think metric, and I’m still determined to shed about 40 more pounds.
The banker advised me that they wave all the normal service charges, because of my old age. I felt insulted. He could have been more politically correct and said advanced age. But it got me thinking. I’m in the early to mid-stage of 70. Wow, when I was 20, I considered those the age of 70 to be ancient old relics, and now I am one! How did that happen? In my mind, I’m still surfing around in the mid-30s. I’m approaching my birthday, and that’s good because the more birthdays you celebrate the longer you live.
