Here is another column on the joys of getting older. Apparently, it is all how you look at it. The other day, Facebook reminded me that this new generation of humans will never know the joys of having two keys for your car. I had totally forgotten about that. You needed one key to lock and unlock the door and another key to start the car. How did we all survive that stage of technology? I am losing my one key all the time. Even Strudel has come to expect the “Where did Babka put her key?” phase of leaving the house.
I fondly recall locking Goober (my brown 1980 Cadillac Sedan DeVille that was my grandpa’s) with the engine still on and being so proud of myself that I knew where my spare key to the door was. Good times. So, when we look at getting older in a positive light, we can see how far we have come with car keys. And laughing about all of those “crazy” mishaps that happened back in olden times. So there is that.
Another joy of getting older is experiencing validation. Without getting into detail since there are things that I do not write about in this column, Husband #1 and got into our first “heated discussion” in front of DIL #1. Up until this point, she probably thought that we had the perfect marriage, since we are all about flowers and handholding. (Kidding. Totally kidding.) At the end of the “heated discussion” DIL #1 asked how this would have been resolved when the boys were younger. I was proud to say that at this point in the conversation, I would have left/stormed out of the house and gone for a walk, because all my beloved boys (and their father) had been ganging up on me. But fast forward to now and this particular “heated discussion.” Son #1 actually saw that, perhaps, I was right in my assessment of the situation at hand. Wow. Thank God I have lived long enough to see the moment where someone related to me was on my side. It was, indeed, a Friday night miracle.
But let us get back to more of the joys of getting older. I was fortunate enough to have a “bonus” day with my Strudel. She was supposed to go home right after Shabbos, but I got to have her one more day. I had gotten out of the car to retrieve her from her car seat, but she wanted the toys that she had thrown on the floor before I took her out. Well, something happened. I don’t know what. I didn’t move any differently than I normally do, I wasn’t bending or lifting or standing on my head, you know, things I normally do, and all of a sudden, I felt it.
If you know what I am talking about, you know what the “it” is. The feeling that something is not right in your back. Like there is something preventing you from walking the same or bending down or sitting down or getting up from sitting down or walking up the stairs or walking down the stairs. Or breathing. Now, of course this was going to happen with a week until I, God willing, leave for Israel to meet Danish. It is just a little reminder from the One Above that, “Yes, I know how much you have to do this week, but you might have to do it in extreme agony so you appreciate things a little bit more when you are not in extreme agony.” Man plans and God laughs. But doesn’t God know that I am cooking for my mom this week, so she has fresh food over Passover? Doesn’t He know how much cleaning I have to do before I leave? Or walking? Or losing the 20 pounds that I was supposed to be doing up until this point? Ha ha ha nope. It is all good. I get to act like my usual martyr self, only in pain.
The joys of getting older. When moving a millimeter in the wrong direction results in a dependance on Aleve and heating pads. But it certainly will make me appreciate getting older and enjoying all the good — the trees starting to bloom, the smells of spring, and, hopefully, a safe and healthy journey to meet my new pastry.
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is hoping that by the time this goes to print, she can move without wincing….