Age And Infirmity

Day 112: There's no dodging it. I'm not getting any younger, and these last two years have made me more keenly aware of the fact than I'd care to admit. Idleness and stress are taking their toll on my health and stamina, and although I could still probably drop a fairly large percentage of people half my age on a hike, the old grey mare just ain't what she used to be. Hard truth, but there you have it. Perhaps the most noticeable decline is in my joints. No longer as flexible as they should be, they're getting arthritic and stiff to the point that it's painful to hold an embroidery hoop for any length of time. That said, I flatly refuse to give up the things I enjoy just because it hurts when I do them, but when there is a simple solution available, far be it from me to scorn it. I've eyeballed sit-on embroidery frames for years, but never felt I could justify purchasing one. My left thumb recently convinced me otherwise, and oh, what a relief it is! Now I have both hands free so that I can work cross-stitch in the same manner I'd do needlepoint or quilting, one hand above the piece and one below. As an added benefit, the stress on my shoulders is less as well. The base is not nearly as uncomfortable to secure beneath my legs as I was afraid it would be. In fact, I don't even notice that I'm holding it in place. Like it or not, sometimes accommodations for age and infirmity must be made, but now I'm kicking myself for not making the small investment years earlier.

The Way We Were

Day 85: "How old are you, Crow?" a friend asks.

"Too," say I.

"Two?" she queries, and then illogically, "Were you, like, born in a leap year or something?"

"No," I explain. "I'm too...as in 'too old.' Way too old."

And there's the problem. The birthdays keep racking up, and no one ever pulls any out of the pile.

I've found that the older you get, the less likely people are to believe your stories. If they don't write them off entirely as fabrications, they attribute some measure of exaggeration to the tale. I mean, who is going to believe that a little old lady no bigger than a minute was once an alpinist who climbed Mount Rainier six times by five different routes and spent a night camped on the summit? A few still-breathing friends might remember a mean, lean climbing machine who hiked with two-thirds her body weight in a backpack on a twelve-day trip, but new acquaintances are like as not to think, "Uh-huh, yeah, sure you did." Likewise, there are only a handful of people who will recall the harpist who played in the Governor's Mansion on seventeen occasions during Booth Gardner's administration. Chances are, though, that they won't even remember Booth Gardner, let alone the dainty performer whose ethereal notes drifted down from the balcony over his dinner guests...dainty in that iteration, an ice-climber in another. Yes, I was a professional musician for many years.

Music has always been a major focal point in my life. I was trained as a keyboardist, and always have preferred to make music as opposed to listening to it. My primary instrument was harpsichord, secondarily piano, and my tastes ran from William Byrd to Mozart, anything later being deemed as "modern" and not worth my time. The harp was my performance instrument, and most of the pieces I played were original. However, my large harp suffered a fatal injury and I was forced to give it up when I couldn't afford the repair. Today, my home holds a number of musical instruments (harpsichord and piano included), but many of them are "just for fun." If I find myself singin' the blues, it'll most likely be to an accompaniment on ukulele or blues box guitar.