This is often listed as one of the major problems of old age. I would have to agree with this, but from a different angle than is often meant. Of course, I cannot remember where I put my glasses; and, of course, I rush into a room in a great hurry only to find I cannot remember why I am there; and, of course, I forget the name of someone I have known for 50 years. But that is not what I think is the real forgetfulness of aging.
Recently I have begun to try and streamline my life by getting rid of things that I no longer need or want. In that light I have been going through my bookshelves. I am not getting rid of my grandfather’s memoirs or my beloved volumes of Jane Austen or the tattered volumes that belonged to my father with illustrations by N.C. Wyeth, father of Andrew Wyeth.
I was a history major in college, and I have been reading it ever since. I find it absolutely fascinating and am distressed when my grandchildren, to a person, declare it boring. Their complaint is that it is all about dates. Well maybe so. After all it might be important to know that World War II did not take place in 1965.
Time is something we have always had in our lives but in different ways. When we were younger there never seemed to be enough of it. Weekends sped by in a blur of children’s events, house projects, etc. Weeks were filled with obligations at work or home or in the community.
Now in our eighth decade there is all sorts of time. Work does not call us as we are retired, and our children are grown and gone. One can spend an entire day reading a whole book or sitting in front of the television watching reruns of shows we used to enjoy. We can nap, we can play solitaire or other games on our iPads, or stare into space. Time used to push us and now we have to be careful to push time.
There is still a world out there not only of family but of community that can use this time we have so much of. We may not be as sprightly as we once were, but we have a wealth of knowledge and experience that is worth something. Our hair may be gray, but our hearts can be as young as they ever were. The world is changing, and we need to change and grow with it. Was it really better when we were younger or just different?
We have slowed and time has slowed. The drums we march to have a quieter beat, but we can still put one foot in front of the other. It is alright to spend our time in ways we could not before, but be careful …. the world is still out there and we need to give it what we have.
When I was seventeen, and just graduated from high school, my grandmother took me on a trip to see family that was stationed in Iran (during the Shah’s tenure) and England. On the way we toured the Holy Land in the days when the city of Jerusalem was divided between Israel and Jordan. We went through a refugee camp that was inhabited mostly by Palestinians who had been displaced by the creation of Israel. My seventeen-year-old self fell in love with this nativity scene with the characters portrayed in Palestinian dress. On the bottom of each character are the words World YMCA Center, Aqabat Jabar Refugee Camp, Jericho, Jordan --- a place that does not even exist anymore.
I have treasured this nativity scene, as it has been displayed over the years in our many different homes. This year I treasure it more than ever, as the suffering in Gaza has been on our TV screens for months.
I often wonder where the creators of these figures are and in doing so wish fervently for the continual human craving for “And on earth, peace good-will towards men.”
I am not necessarily put off by the signs of aging that I see in myself. I do not mind the gray hair, or the more careful way I approach stairs. I do not mind having current cultural references sweep uncomprehendingly by me. I do not mind taking a moment to reach around in my mind for a name or an event that might have popped up with no trouble a few years ago. I do not mind that I am driven rather than being behind the wheel on occasion. I do not mind being called Grammy.
I went off to college almost 60 years ago with a brand new Olivetti typewriter grandly in its case. This was a gift from a loving grandmother who wanted me to have the latest in technology for my entrance into the world of academia. Even with this happily received item, research papers were a production nightmare.
I have found over the years that changing our preconceptions is a necessary part of growing up. This seems even more important as we age, and the world around us becomes less and less like the world we grew up in. We are all born into families and societies that form our thoughts about the world. Some of these thoughts are worthwhile and others need to change.
