http://www.showingbeacon.com/

Carver Communications - Index

Carver Communications - 4.1.09 - Index

By Cathey Meyer
Signs of Aging
My timing in life has allowed me to
observe the action/reaction of our nation’s
most populous generation—The Baby
Boomers. My date of birth places me in the
caboose of the ever chugging train of aging
whiners, but I still think of myself as that
teenager who just missed the arrival of the
Beatles. Hard as all of us may try, there is no
jumping off this age train.
When my application for membership
to retired AARP arrived in the mail (twice)
BEFORE I was six months to the magical
age of 50, I was not at all distressed. In these
tough economic times, any discount is 10%
back I did not have before. When my eye
doctor announced my reading glasses needed
a bump in strength and my eyesight will
never be what it once was I just smiled,
squinted and thanked him as I walked into the
wall next to the door leaving his office.
When I realized I officially visited an arthritis
doctor every three months, I understood
this was part of the cycle of life. When the
30-something kid referred to me as ‘madam’
once too many times in the grocery checkout
line, I went home and took a long look in the
mirror.
Mirror, mirror on the wall reflected
back to me the reality that a handicapped
parking sticker was in my elderly future. In
truth, none of those things made me feel as
‘matured’ as realizing for the first time in my
lifetime, we have elected a leader of the free
world who is younger than me. Our president
of these United States is 36 months my
junior. Most likely in my lifetime, there will
never be another president who will qualify
for Social Security before me. I am now, offically
a ripe aging AARP’er with fruits withering
on the vine. Of course, at this age, my
fruits are grapes and the longer they wither,
the better the wine (or whine depending on
the menopausal mood).
In truth, none of that has made me feel
my age. The stuff from the good old days
keeps me young at heart as I think of those
‘remember whens’. You know you are officially
reaching elder status when those internet
lists make the rounds and you remember
leaded gasoline, time before color television
April, 1 2009 REAL ESTATE NEWSLINE 7
and wired-remotes and learning to type on
manual typewriters. For the recorded, you
are officially elderly when cannot remember
any of those things and you are older than the
current president.
My aging wheels started turning as I
realized in my lifetime, it is not what I
remember, but what I now have no clue about
that may date me more than any facial wrinkle.
I recently received a request to join
someone’s Face Book. Apparently, I am too
old to be My Spaced, but still young enough
to be Face Booked. In my little world of nontechnology
living, I was hoping to live a life
not committing to weird computer stuff that
converted proper nouns to verb action. The
request would have sent me a twitter, but
apparently that too would enter me in some
type of cyber-communication-connection.
I remember when email first slithered
into my dinosaur computer set-up back in the
good ‘90’s. (Yes 1990’s). As bizarre as NOT
sending a letter through the mail grabbed me,
I realized I still cannot figure out how all
those people fit in my television and entertain
me daily, so some things I just do not question—especially
if I ever have to purchase a
new television and flat people start talking to
me from the flat screen. Please remember,
my television people are different from your
television people as mine are the old fashion
over-the-FREE-air-waves—not the fancy
cable/satellite/internet folks.
When the President whined (yes he is
closer to my aging experience than he might
admit) that he needed his Blackberry to conduct
daily business, I promptly agreed he
deserved that treat. I start each day with
blackberries on my oatmeal (a solid fiber
beginning to my day). Then my five-year-old
nephew explained to me what a Blackberry is
using his mobile phone/television/computer/transporter
handheld device. Of course,
we were interrupted several times during my
‘tutoring’ session as he faced and spaced his
social network of hooked-up fellow kindergarteners
and his Blue Tooth (which was not
in his mouth) lit up his ear. I was never sure
who he was talking to, so several times he
looked at me like I had spaced out into old
age dementia when I did not respond to his
question to me.
When my cell phone rang, he ran
from the room frightened by the large, shoe
size object I used to communicate the almost
old-fashion way—answering a phone. Not
so ironically, my Realtor wanted to let me
know I had lost a chance to bid on a condo
because she could not text me the information
for an immediate response and a buyer
from India had twittered her FaceBooked
Realtor a better offer in the time it took my
Realtor to voice activate her phone and wait
for the two rings for me to answer and speak.
I often think of Grandma Meyer these
days. She always seemed so old to me in her
old fashion ways of driving a standard shift
Dodge, making pancakes from scratch and
teaching me math by playing dominos. Her
phone was attached to the wall and had a
short coiled cord that kept her from moving
about to visit. As the world evolved around
her, she stayed active, happy and in touch
with her Bunco group long before the long
distance call came to ‘move her on’. I trust
when my time comes, I will still be able to
answer that ring.