esrosedotblog

BLOGGING BLOCK

I have been on the inactive list as far as personal blogging is concerned.

I can blame outside matters on this. The death of a good friend. Major dental work. Busy-ness. But, over a long period of time, I have found that these things are actually more manageable when I write about them or when I am writing about something else.

A lot of this is just bullshit. Yesterday I convinced myself that my typing skills had tanked and that I was getting old and uncoordinated. Or something. I also decided that my handwriting had deteriorated. Could this be the encroachment of old age? All in a couple of days?

No. Right now, I am typing away like a professional stenographer, if they type any more. And being conscious of the handwriting I made some notes that were in the old firm hand.

Perhaps just a mood.

So. Here I am writing in spite of myself.

We are sort of between things.

We stick to our routine but are able to do other stuff. MIT interviews for me. A new plan to go back to Italy for John.

In three weeks a trio of kids will appear to spend a long weekend with us and each other.

This week, I get my new crowns (three of them) and take the impression for my plate. That takes some starch out. But I am past the hard part and heading for the last lap.

So, for better or, hardly ever, for worse, I am in the flow of life and busy. So I guess everything is OK.

I always feel "behind" but I am not. It turns out that, at the end of each day, everything that needed to be done got done and most of the stuff I thought about doing, needed or not, got done too.

So for a guy like me, that is a good definition of happiness. It also helps me sleep very well.

OK. Rambling Alert. Time to get back to business.

Labels: blogging, geriatrics, life

FLOOED, BLOOED AND TATTOOED

We went to get our flu shots today.

Yup.

It is that time again.

Seniors are especially targeted to get them. We are vulnerable, after all.

Here, the Senior Center gets very aggressive about it. They have an Elder Expo with all kinds of booths and shit. An attraction.

There is one hitch. They make you walk all through the Expo to get to the shots.

It showed me that, one more time, this kind of Senior Center oldster life is not for me.

Wall to wall geezers.

I know. I know.

I may eat my words some day and be one of those yuk-yuk old guys hanging out at the doors to help get the line moving while actually impeding progress.

I would be that guy, I think.

It is the only way that I could see myself joining the gang.

We have an older friend who has spent much of her later years being a volunteer with the elderly because she has never identified with 'them' in any other way.

It has kept her young.

Me too, I hope.

If I have to.

You could go there and lead your entire life which is, for some people, a good thing. They have games and socials and all kinds of activities. Lunch.

So far, I am a member but not a participant.

I only darken the door once a year for my flu shot.

So I am free and clear for 2007.

Done.

Ticket punched.

See 'ya again next year!

Labels: geriatrics, life

GEEZERED

I don't think a lot about my 'later years'.

If I do, I think about maintaining my independence right to the end.

This article set me back a little.

Rethinking Old Age

Our Mom's died in nursing home rooms or the equivalent.

This ain't my idea of where I want to end up.

We have done a few things to head it off.

We both have long term care policies that would emphasize home care over some phony 'home'.

I would be determined to stay with my people and my stuff.

Of course, in life, we do not always have as many choices as we think we should have.

But I am sure going to do my best to avoid the kind of sad ending that is described in this article.

My fears are somewhat limited. A room mate that I never knew in my life could be a hell that would surpass all hells. I can't much stand to be with people my own age now.

Routines are OK but someone else's routine is another thing.

Bingo? Television?

Sorry.

Show me the plastic bag I can put over my head.

Labels: coming of age, geriatrics