The last time I went shopping, I sat in my car and observed others hustling and bustling with their carts filled with tons of groceries and a child or two. I tend to do that a lot lately – observe. Watching others and living vicariously through them has been the fare of the day in my world. Whether it’s from the comfort of my favorite chair or looking out my window at home. It may sound like a peaceful existence, but what I wouldn’t give to be able to run like the wind – to chase rainbows – to follow my dreams and all that other crud that goes along with youth. In the past year, I’ve learned that there are limits to what my body can do.

I knew this was coming, but I never thought it would happen so fast, but I should’ve known much sooner. I kept thinking my strength would return. I wouldn’t take so long to recover from the common cold. I looked forward to gardening but realize there are limitations. Many of my friends are in the same boat as me. We’ve all lost the elasticity of young skin. Our bodies don’t move as fast as they did. Our hearing is shot. Our bones are breaking or wearing out. Our sight is plagued with macular degeneration or glaucoma. Our spirit within is telling us to get up and go, when it’s already got up and left. I have spent these aging years, looking for the humor in it, to no avail. There is nothing funny about getting old. However, there are a few things that take the edge off.

For example, I think of Tim Conway and his old man interpretation – taking baby steps and talking very slowly and indistinctly. Now that was funny. I recall Ruth Buzzi and Art Carney and their rendition of an old man hitting on an old woman. More chuckles. I think about all the jokes that have been made about the elderly and now I am one and it’s not so funny anymore.

Those in my circle of friends have been getting new parts to replace old worn-out ones. They endure surgery that takes time to rehab and spend a great amount of time at the clinic. So far, I have all my original parts, but none of them are working well. I take those Tim Conway steps behind a walker. I pray that there will be a cart next to my parking place, so I don’t have to walk without assistance. The only “hitting on” I’ve experienced is a comment made by a senior man who said I had lovely hair. We were in the parking lot of the clinic. I was slightly flattered, but not enough. Good thing I had my purse with me.

I write skits for a theatre troupe of seniors over 55 years old. One of the pre-requisites of this writing is that it has to be funny. Having passed the 80 year mark, I have tons of material to draw on. It’s all true. It’s all relatable. It’s all funny. I now walk with great caution, fearing that my balance will sustain me. Many friends and relatives are victims of falling and endangering those already fragile bones.

As I sit in my car or look out my window at home, I recall the days when I could walk a mile without huffing and puffing. Now, it takes every ounce of energy to make it to the mailbox and back. I think about my past ability to do countless projects around the house. I feel sorry for myself being cooped up like an old bird in a cage. It is then that I see another aging person trying to get to her car without falling. I see a mirror image of myself and have to chuckle. Not because I’m laughing at the person’s condition, but because I know what they’re going through.

With friends falling and breaking bones, I’ve decided to spend more time in my chair. With the ascending price of gasoline, I can’t really afford to go anywhere anyway. I thank God that He’s given me this extra time on earth to laugh at life and to share His love.

THANK YOU, JESUS, FOR ANOTHER DAY!