No more “70 is the new 50” or “60 is the new 40”, or any such malarkey. There’s no doubt about it. I’m no longer “aging gracefully”, or “getting on in years”, or “wiser with age”, or (the worst) “80 years young”.
I’ve crossed the line – I’ve been mature for a while but now I’m definitely elderly. My lovely wife is also 80, which is the point: you can’t be lucky enough to be happily married for 58 years without also being (no other way to say it) old.
One thing that happens when a person reaches such a milestone is that you become realistic about the future and a bit sentimental about the past. It is kinda fun to inform people that your high school graduation was the class of 1963. In other words, we were starting our adult lives before the majority of the people in the world today were born.
The sad truth is that we’ve outlived our parents’ entire generation and that there’s a growing number of boomers who we’ve also outlasted. It’s not being morose to realize that time’s running out; that our days are numbered and that, to a certain degree, we’ve seen better days. At 80, every sunrise is a gift; every day lived an accomplishment; every night’s sleep a dream come true.
I’ve been fortunate to be very healthy my entire life. For one thing, I’ve never spent a night in hospital, and I’ve only broken two bones, one in my hand playing rugby and my nose more than once. I guess that’s how you get to still be around at 80.
However, I have noticed that some things have stopped working properly. These days, when I pee, it’s in Morse Code. One of the latest developments is something I didn’t see coming – drool. I’m not slobbering on my shirt, but little pools of involuntary moisture are occasionally forming at the corners of my mouth and not just before I use my steak knife to cut into a grilled ribeye.
These days, every time I visit my doctor (something I didn’t do during certain past decades), he often blames my latest complaint by pointing out that I’m “not getting any younger”. Who is?
The point is, at a certain age, for some sooner and some later, parts simply start wearing out; not working as well, missing a beat and things slow down while hopefully not stopping all together.
My most serious development lately has been a loss of balance. Recently, while on holiday, I was returning to my cottage when I turned around quickly, tripped and spun out of control, landing with a thud on a gravel pathway. You’ve heard of minced meat. Well, I was minced. My left arm and leg suffered dozens of wounds. I was told later that I was lucky I didn’t break anything. I don’t agree with this thinking. I would have been much luckier if I didn’t have to know how to fall at all. I tucked and rolled and still was sliced and diced.
However, I was very fortunate indeed that a lovely lady named Fiona was also staying at the resort. Not only is she an angel but a retired nurse, who immediately came to my first aid. Never hesitating, she generously gave up her leisure time and resourcefully used every first aid kit available and cleaned and bandaged my tattered limbs expertly with a cheerfully competent approach that immediately put my worried wife and me at ease. She even changed the bandages, a very touchy task, once before the long weekend was over. She was compassionate, reassuring, positive and gentle.
Since then, I’ve taken to using a cane in a tripodish effort to remain upright. But what I really learned is to continue to have faith in the basic goodness of people, like Fiona, a Brit. Being from the United States of America, a country equally divided by a feeling of dislike and not governed but ruled by a mean-spirited despot, a person can become pessimistic. So, we have to remember and hope that it continues that there are more Fionas in the world, kind loving people, than sneering bullies in red hats.
I also feel that I am quite lucky indeed to be living out my days in what has become generally recognized as a darn good place to retire – the Algarve region of historic, scenic, mild and safe Portugal.
Of course, I know it’s not perfect. We’re still waiting for our new residency cards to be issued (we were told at our appointment for renewal that it might be by February), but my renewed driver’s license arrived in the mail recently, so there’s that. And no, I haven’t even come close to mastering the very difficult language of Portuguese and, at my age, doubt if I ever will.
What I have learned by living in Maryland, a pleasant small state, and in the sunny island nation of the Bahamas when we were younger and more recently in Panama, a tropical isthmus, is that paradise is not perfect.
Lots of places have sea views but also drug gangs and/or traffic. When the breeze dies down, the flies come out or, worse, mosquitos. Crime can be a problem, though not so much in relatively safe Portugal. That’s the point – I believe we all can be happy in a number of different locales but, under current conditions (before too many nouveau riche arrive and drive prices through the roof), that safe and secure, rather inexpensive Portugal is a very viable retirement alternative.
After my lovely wife and I had been married for around 30 years, people started asking us what our “secret” was to having such a long-lasting relationship. Our unhesitant answer has always been short, almost blunt – luck. That’s right, we feel that we were lucky to find someone who turned out to be the right person. She doesn’t mind that I throw my socks on the floor, and I don’t throw my socks on the floor. We didn’t have kids, and I’ve had more than one parent actually poke a finger in my chest and claim “that’s your secret”.
One thing that we do do is, we celebrate our anniversary and our birthdays up big every year with a surprise trip. Once, I took her to Iceland for the weekend and, most recently, she arranged a long weekend for my birthday at the Pousada Palácio Estoi. You don’t have to go far to be away when you live in the Algarve.
Recently, another columnist in this very paper decided that when he turned 60, it was time to pontificate, with advice muffled in ponderous prose. As far as audience analysis goes, I don’t think he understands that many of the residents who read this outstanding publication are, in fact, retirees, most of who are way past 60 themselves and can tell him a thing or two. Certainly, they don’t need platitudes.
I’m not one for giving advice, even when asked and never when not requested.
When playing golf, for example, it’s never polite to offer swing suggestions until specifically asked for by your partner, who may be splashing every slice into the pond. Even when he throws his club into said pond and yells “what the hell am I doing?” that doesn’t necessarily mean that he wants your opinion.
The best I try for is referring my friends and even family (especially family) to experts for consultation about finances, marriage and/or love, travel, real estate, personal hygiene and golf.
I think you’re allowed to recommend restaurants, books and movies, but I caution that your well-meaning suggestions will not always be appreciated after the fact.
I reviewed movies for 25 years in local newspapers and for 13 on a local TV station in Maryland. Not often but more than once, I had somebody (apparently not a fan) tell me that if I liked a movie, “then they knew it was bad”. I simply smiled and responded that, “then, that meant I was doing my job as their consumer advocate”, enabling them to make their viewing choices based on info they received.
Once or twice, a negative letter to the editor poured in with a demand that I be fired. Such a missive had the opposite effect – the editor was always thrilled to have concrete proof that somebody was actually reading my reviews and taking them seriously.
Here’s what I do know. Life is a struggle. Nobody is totally happy, healthy or lucky. Most people are doing the best they can. Problems come up all the time and need to be at least dealt with, if not solved. Health concerns increase with age. And there’s nothing you can do about the weather. If it’s going to storm on your beach day, shaking your fist at God and yelling “Why me?” won’t change the forecast.
What we can do is try to make the best of things, like increasing your chances of sunny days by moving to the Algarve. I feel very fortunate to have ended up here with a woman I love dearly, in a locale that is relatively safe, affordable if not inexpensive, with nice scenery, rather friendly people and a couple of nice restaurants nearby.
