The Golden Age

This blog is brought to you by Geritol.

G-E-R-I-T-O-L.

Feel Stronger Fast.

A one and a two and a three.

For those of you born post-1970, let’s get that “huh?” look off your face.

Geritol is a dietary supplement.

A vitamin if you will.

Most popular in the 1950’s.

Most popular for being the sponsor of the Lawrence Welk Show.

Most popular amongst the geriatric crowd.

Hence the name.

I’m 44 now.

Which is young in old people terms.

Old in young people terms.

So maybe Goldilocks, that’s just the right age.

And I still feel pretty good.

But boy are there days.

Like earlier this year.

When I had my annual eye exam.

That’s when I was informed by the good doctor that this would be the year.

The year I would start struggling with my vision.

“Thanks a lot”, I thought to myself.

Now I don’t know if he was making the statement based on his experience.

Or if he was just trying to sell another pair of spectacles.

But either way, he was right.

These days I’m wearing glasses more than Elton John.

There’s nothing fun about getting old.

At least that’s what they say.

Whoever they are.

But don’t tell that to my stepmother.

After my dad died nearly 10 years ago, she moved back east.

To be closer to her kids.

Entering her 8th decade of life, she moved into one of “those” communities.

SENIOR LIVING.

Or something like that.

Her facility has like 5,000 people.

5,000 Seniors.

Acting like college students.

Taking field trips.

Seeing plays.

Going to restaurants.

Museums.

They do it all.

And she is loving every single second of it.

Unfortunately we don’t talk as much as we used to.

No reason.

I like her very much.

And she likes me.

But my schedule gets gobbled up by “stuff”.

And time flies when you’re 70.

No one to blame here.

But I got a call from her about a week ago.

My phone never rang.

Thanks AT&T.

Before I could get back to her.

She called me again.

Uh-oh.

I called her back.

No answer.

Left a message.

We played phone tag for a few days.

I got a little more nervous with each missed call.

Desperately hoping there was nothing wrong with her.

Or her mom.

Who is now 99.

Thankfully, those thoughts were alleviated when we finally spoke.

Grandma is doing great.

Still doing her art work.

Still living every day

But I could tell there was something on her mind.

After a few minutes of “hey how are you?”

And “how’s the family.”

Yada yada yada.

I found out what it was.

She told me that she’s met someone.

I think she may have called him “a friend.”

Or something like that.

I got the feeling she wasn’t sure how I would feel about it.

Or maybe how my dad would feel about it.

But when she heard the genuine excitement in my voice.

Everything became ok.

She told me that this “friend” is 89.

And she's now in her mid-70's.

Cradle-robber.

He’s nice.

And smart.

And hard of hearing.

They met in an Opera Class.

I had no choice but to say that being hard of hearing is the only way to enjoy the opera.

She chuckled.

For 1.2 seconds.

In his working days he was very successful.

He has a PHD.

Ran a company.

College Professor.

Probably invented something too.

But even with all of his accomplishments.

One thing separated him from the rest of the men in her complex.

“He still drives at night.”

That’s when I started chuckling.

Actually we both had a good laugh.

Only time will tell where these little lovebirds go from here.

And they’ve got plenty of time to decide.

But to hear how happy she was.

Made me happy.

Which made her happy.

And life is too short for anything else.