Hi to you all — Once again, I have a wonderful guest post, this time from my friend, Jo Saia, who is a talented writer sharing some of her thoughts as she makes her way through the Third Age. I'm so grateful for her thoughtful, touching, and often funny posts on Crow's Feet, but she writes for other blogs and is a talented artist as well. Links to her work are at the end of the article.
Here's what Jo says about herself:
A retired social worker who now has the time to follow her passions of writing and painting, I write about my experience as an aging woman, mostly, and what lessons and bittersweet gifts that this time of life can bring. I get inspiration for both my writing and painting from the wonder around me, both in people and in nature (my cathedral is a grove of redwood trees).
Enjoy, and as always, let us know what you think and what speaks to you!!!
Warmly, Diane
My Factory Warranty Has Expired
My car and body are beyond the warranty expiration date.
Photo by Cayton Heath on Unsplash
I have an older car, a 94 Toyota Camry. It is beyond dependable. And it has sentimental value. It’s the last thing that my father helped me buy before he died, as he wanted me to have a good dependable car for a long time. It makes me smile as I remember him.
It runs wonderfully, but it’s getting old. There are squeaks and age-related noises. I listen carefully for any new sign that something may need to be looked at so that we don’t have a disaster on the road.
I realized that this is how my body now feels. It is beyond any warranty that it may have come with, and the parts are often no longer available. No doubt at some point various parts will have to be replaced with newly manufactured items.
I need to listen carefully for any new sign that something may need to be looked at, just like with my car. A strange sound or new pain might be something that needs to be dealt with that otherwise, if not attended to, could result in something much worse.
The body of my car is also less than perfect. The paint is chipping, there are scratches, dents and other signs that happen with a long life such as she has had. She has been a road warrior, and it shows.
It’s the same with me, with signs of this long life that I have been lucky enough to have lived so far. There are creaks, squeaks, groans, moans, chips, scratches, and dents of the human variety. It’s a map and storybook of where I have been, who I have been, and the life that I have lived. Decisions made that were good or bad, wise or foolish, are there for all to see.
My hair is grey, although I choose at this point to color it. It makes me feel better, and I have fun with the color. But that doesn’t hide the fact that the melanin has long gone away. I do have several shades of color, though. I can see (in the roots that are so enthusiastic with their appearance) dark grey, light grey, some white. This must be nature’s version of highlights.
My skin is dented, wrinkled, saggy and shows the toll of time and age. It bruises and bleeds more easily, my own version of the paint chipping.
The latest issue with my car is that the passenger side door no longer opens from the outside. I have no idea what happened. And these days, I calculate what I would spend money on to repair versus what I can live with. I can live with this. So what if I have to open this door from the inside? It’s a good stretching exercise. (Aging helps you see the benefit in things, and helps you laugh. We must keep laughing.)
Maybe my body and I have a door that doesn’t open. And maybe I will leave that comparison for another time. It deserves its own article. I know, however, that my knees don’t bend and flex quite like they used to. Now I may think about how long I can leave an object on the floor before I pick it up. That decision is not as automatic as it once was.
I don’t speed with my car these days, not that I ever really did that. But I could occasionally, when we were both younger, get a bit heavy on the gas pedal. Now we just both ride along at or just above the speed limit, happy to stay in the slower lanes and let others speed by us.
I know my mechanics by their first names. We greet each other like old friends. My car needs to have regular maintenance as various things fall apart or deteriorate.
And I also have more frequent appointments with my doctor. These days, I have a whole range of doctors, as they each need to focus on a particular body part. It has become too much for one doctor to handle. Still, I am grateful for them all.
I love driving my car around locally. Being as old as she is, she is less likely to be stolen (unfortunately a more common occurrence in the city where I live). She doesn’t shine and sparkle and cause others to want her. Need I even make the comparison here to myself?
And yet, and yet…I sometimes get a note on my car asking if I want to sell her. She is what my mechanic calls a classic. He says that they don’t make them like that anymore. She keeps going, keeps chugging along, keeps getting me to where I need to go.
So does my body. It is a classic, dare I say as in the old-time sculptures of the rather large female bodies that were not the shape or form that is idealized today. My body still works, still runs (well, maybe walks), and still does what it needs to do, albeit more slowly and carefully.
And so, we age together, my car and me. We are happy to still be around, be useful, be traveling, and still on the road. And that is good enough. That is wonderful.
Links to Jo's work:
I write for Medium, mostly for Crow's Feet.
I also have a blog at wordpress. josaia.com
And I sometimes post some of my photos and paintings on instagram, josaia92020.