Now That's What I Call Old

We all make jokes about 'Ooh, must be getting old' when we'd rather stay at home than go out, or when we have a mental block about someone's name, but if you understand any of the following, you're not 'getting' old at all.  

You've already got there.

Nice one, Mr Bowie, but I'm not sure you meant the person who thinks Oasis and Nirvana are new music, who hasn't worn high heels in 15 years and who not only has a favourite teaspoon, but thinks her coffee tastes different if an alternative is used.

In all its glory. 

old

If it's the first and third Tuesday of the month... 

When the next day is 'normal' bin day, ie not recycling or garden rubbish, I empty all the small bins into the big one and tie up the full bin liner so I can take it downstairs and put in the wheelie bin.  That's normal, right?  As is sometimes taking it down the night before, and going out late at night to pull the bin out onto the street in case the bin men come earlier than usual.

Now ... this what I call old:

Not only having put the bin out the night before, but looking out of window next morning and feeling smug because I did so.  Especially if it's raining.  And reporting on this achievement to my husband, expecting a pat on the back.

old

Now that's what I call old:

The other day I took a brief look at the Billboard Music Awards hashtag on Twitter, and found that I had not actually heard of any of the artistes aside from Mariah Carey (who was probably getting an award for most glamorous old timer, or something), and Taylor Swift, though I do not believe I have heard any of her records, and certainly couldn't name one.  The rest all appeared to be Korean children.

old 

You know you've crossed the Rubicon when you become aware of the restorative powers of a cup of tea and a toasted teacake.  Around 20 years ago I worked in a café in Cromer and wondered why this was the mid-afternoon snack of choice for all the pensioners who would come in.  Now, I understand.

old

'You look the same as you did when I first knew you!'

In your 50s, when you meet up with friends you've known forever but haven't seen for a while, you each think the other looks about the same.  Of course neither of you actually do, but you know each others' faces so well, and your favourable impression is helped along by the fact that you're too vain to wear your glasses, so everyone is in soft focus.

However, when you get into your 60s, you know it's all falling apart for both of you.  There are no cries of 'You don't look any different!'  Not least of all because you've given in to the glasses thing, otherwise you'd fall down the step to the loo in that nice café you've chosen for lunch.  No, you no longer automatically meet in a pub!

With my friend Abi, last Friday

old

Sometimes, when you happen across the social media bio of Gen Z people, you genuinely don't know what half of it means.

3w4, she/her, aro ace queer, Side A ... Some frog lady literally just some Amphibby guy   She/her  Perpetually stuck in Amphibia Season 2 ... zelda + OCs! demise is my blorbo - my loz comic "Destiny" 

old

'You tell me about your aches and pains, and I'll tell you about mine.'

Nowadays you might feel the cold more - and each morning you do a quick assessment of which bits hurt most: the arthritic knuckles, the arm you used to carry a heavy bag yesterday, the lower back pain, the sciatica...

My spectacular osteo-arthritic finger.  They're all varying degrees of bad, but this beauty hurts so much and constantly; I've just got used to it (and yes, I've tried everything imaginable, waiting for steroid injections!).

old

The years pass by ever more quickly...

You know how when you were a child in the 1960s or 70s, you would see pictures of your parents from the 30s and 40s and think how funny and old-fashioned they looked.  You may have recently realised that there was less time between the 30s/40s and your own childhood/teenage years, than there is between the years of your own youth, and NOW.  If you know what I mean.

Mum, early 1950s

old

'But then we grew up in a time without social media...'

You don't just think that the 1970s and 80s was a better time, you know it was.  Even the long dark teatime of the soul that was the late afternoon in on a winter Sunday, when there was nothing to watch on telly (because there were only 3 channels) and the pubs had shut at 2 pm and would not open again until 7.  What the hell, it was character-building!  

Every day, something makes you feel grateful for having your youth when you did, not least of all because you got to see all those rock bands in their heydays, because you could smoke in pubs, and there weren't any bouncers on the door and it was safe to walk home alone at night and people ate real food and had family meal times and you can remember when this was all fields.....

With various chums (and a couple of my sister, below) from about 1975 - 1980.  Bottom right, above, was with Ray, my first long-term boyfriend.  Before camera phones, digital cameras, etc... the photo booths were much used!

Cheers!

(me in 1985)

Other posts about the ageing process...

On Being Sixty

Being 50

On Being Sixty

In August this year, I was sixty. 😮😮😱

Forty is sobering, fifty is a 'how the hell did that happen?' moment, but sixty—well, the big 6-0 takes you to a whole new, previously unimaginable stage of the ageing process.  When anyone asks me how old I am (medical people, etc), I want to say 'which totally freaks me out' after I've said 'sixty'.

I read somewhere that forty is the old age of youth, and fifty is the youth of old age.  Sixty, though, is just old.

The other day it occurred to me that I may actually be classed as a 'senior citizen' (the official age of such a definition varies).  This seems completely ludicrous.  I feel like I've moved from my racketing around, chaotic younger years to being an old lady, without having the mature adult decades in between.  I've somehow managed to skip that part, perhaps because I spent my forties in the pub/immersed in ill-advised relationships, and my fifties sitting at my laptop writing books. 

My 60th birthday cake - a Walking Dead cake, made by Ema of Dotty About Cakes

Of course, my twilight years crept up on me during my late fifties.  The usual stuff—more achy bits, more pills to take, going off alcohol and worrying about my B12 and D3 intake, saying, "Oh God" instead of "Oh good" when invited out on social occasions, and the increased padding round the middle that isn't going anywhere soon, because I don't care enough to do anything about it.

When I was younger I thought being this old would be ghastly.  For a start, I thought the end of romantic adventures would mean that life was totally dullsville—I didn't realise that your desire to have them decreases at exactly the same rate as the likelihood of them happening.  Having been happily married for the past decade-ish, I now wonder how I had the energy.  Now, if anything happened to my husband, I am convinced I would remain single for the rest of my life, and contentedly so.

Two months before this milestone birthday I decided to do something I haven't done for ages: I would lose at least a stone for my birthday, and everyone would fall down in amazement about how slim and glamorous I looked.  Of course the diet lasted less than one day, and they didn't.  I met up with a few family members and old friends, looking just the same as I always do, and that was just fine; another positive, I suppose—kidding myself I was going to diet was just the last hangover from my younger days.  The loose tops are here to stay.

In Cromer, on the last evening of my fifties (wearing one of large selection of very loose tops!).

Something I had forgotten about, which is another of the upsides of this age, is that you get free and cheap stuff!  I didn't even realise I got prescriptions free until I went to pay for one, a few weeks after my birthday.  And I've got a senior railcard, which rocks my world—I can travel first class for less than the price of an normal ticket, before!

In Cromer, on the second morning of my sixties - now I am officially old, I dare post no-make-up photos without a care!

On the whole, I rather like being old, aside from the fact that I worry I have a terminal illness with every twinge, and I wish I just had more time—will I have enough years to write all the books I want to write?  To read and watch and learn about everything that interests me?  

I regret all the time wasted on stupid stuff, in some ways, but don't in other ways because it's taught me a lot, and provided material for novels!  I began to take my health seriously several years ago, when I stopped smoking; I scarcely drink now, and am fanatical about nutrition—and that stuff works.  Since I've been an almost-vegan and started making sure I have all necessary vitamins and minerals every day, certain aspects of my health have improved greatly.

....but, having said that, I have far less physical energy and strength than I used to have.  However many moisturisers I use, sixty is not the new forty.  Sixty is sixty.  I realised that when my sister (age 62) and I went to Hever Castle and Penshurst Place for the day with our friend Gemma, who is in her late thirties.  After several hours on our feet, Julia and I had aching backs and felt quite desperate to sit down.  Gemma was just fine, as we would have been at her age.

Another slight downside is that sometimes you feel as though the world is escaping from you.  I remember my mother saying, in her seventies, "I don't like this world anymore.  I'm glad I was born when I was", and I have begun to feel the same over the last few years, particularly as technology advances to scifi films level.  I'm glad I was a child in the 1960s and a teenager in the 1970s, that I remember those times.  I think it's probably the same for everyone, whenever they were born.  Sometimes I look at Twitter bios of the young and think, "I wonder what all that stuff actually means?"

The fun part, though, is that when you are old you get to make broad generalisations about the youth of today.  

 
On the other hand, it is not only old farts like me who make broad generalisations.  A while back, on Twitter, I made a harmless joke on the trend for describing oneself as 'pansexual'.  (I actually said I was 'napsexual', ie, too lazy and would rather go to sleep).  Some young chap had a right go at me, saying I was mocking a genuine sexuality. He practically accused me of a hate crime, and said that 'my generation' were all pro-Trump, pro-Brexit homophobes.  He really did say that, I'm not making it up.

I thought about this for a while, and sent him a polite DM to point out that it was actually my generation and the one before who fought all the battles, so that people of his age could claim any lifestyle/sexuality they want in their bios without fear of mockery or prejudice.  He didn't want to see that, though.  Especially not when I suggested that it was he who was bigoted, not me.

Possibly my favourite birthday card this year, from my friend Sharon

Generally, though, I get less het up about stuff than I did when I was younger, but that could be because I don't have children to worry about.  I just want a quiet life.  And I think you get more happy in your own skin, as it were, when you get older.  Which is just as well, because it's the only one you've got.

I wonder if I will be writing a similar sort of post in ten years' time, when I'm seventy?

Probably the best sort of 60 year old photo - hair safely over the face!

The Good and the Bad of Fifty-Something

When I reached my 50th birthday, in the summer of 2009, I scarcely noticed it.  I was working at a job I didn't actively hate, I had a nice house in which I'd lived alone for the past year, a jolly social life, I was in a happy new relationship and felt as fit and lively as I had throughout my forties, even though the menopause was already standing at the end of the road, waving hello.  I spent my 50th birthday getting plastered on Cromer pier with several of those close to me.  Being 50 wasn't an issue.  I thought I'd just carry on carrying on.  It never occurred to me how different I was about to feel.

Age 49, in Cromer (where I used to live) with my friend Sharon

The change came when I got to 51.  The menopause had taken up residence and brought along its pals Hot Flush and Unreliable Moods.  My body decided to add a dress size.  My dodgy knees developed arthritis.  I'd never noticed I had these things called jowls, but I knew all about them when they began to sag.  Despite the happiness of the rest of my life, I kept feeling depressed and flat.  My sister, who is two years and four months older than me, told me that all this passes, as soon as the menopause packs its bags.  I couldn't imagine how this could be.  Surely, if I felt like this at 52, the only way was down?

But she was right.

 I do!!!! (in the bath)

Sometime around the age of 54, I realised that I'd accepted this new stage of my life, and no longer mourned what was before.  Which is just as well, because there's bugger all I can do about it.  Of course I have the odd regret or two, everyone does, and moments of nostalgia (perhaps more for the simpler, pre-internet days than anything else), but I'm glad I've done a lot of stuff and known a lot of people; if nothing else, it's all material for novels!  My mother often used to say 'youth is wasted on the young'.  Like most things older people say, I didn't understand it until I was old myself.  It's true, though.  If only I'd had the head I have now, I wouldn't have made so many dumb mistakes.  I wonder if part of this is simply being past the menopause; my moods/choices are no longer affected by my hormones.  

I didn't want this post to be all about superficial stuff, ie physical appearance, but then I thought, what the hell ~ most women talk, think and care about how they look.  So here it is: I think you have to accept that 'gorgeous' is no longer an option, and the sooner you do, the happier you'll be.  I've always felt sorry for the film stars who have all sorts of scary work done to their faces in an effort to keep themselves looking 30.  It never works.  Plastic surgery, botox, whatever, it doesn't make you look younger.  It just makes you look weird.  I am 58.  I have spidery liney bits around my mouth, the-jowls-that-sag, crows feet, a couple of lines around my neck, and a totally white hairline.  My youth has passed.  I can't bring it back; none of us can.  No matter how much money you have, you can't hold back time. 

Madonna, almost exactly one year older than me.  Even the lines round her eyes look lifted, and she's got that 'pillow face' look that fillers give you.

The good, bad and ugly of being 50+:

• Good: In that I expect to be with my husband until one of us kicks the bucket, I am so glad that the ups and downs of my previously 'colourful' (euphemism for chaotic) love life are now over.  Now, I don't know how I had the emotional energy.
• Good: I mind less what people think of me.
• Bad: I have aches and pains that weren't there 10 years ago, and less energy.
• Good: I've slowed down, and like being on my own more and more. 
• Bad: There's stuff I didn't do that I am not able to do now, like travel and studying all the subjects that I find so fascinating.  There simply aren't enough years left.
• Good: I've stopped worrying about a load of stuff that doesn't matter, and feel more relaxed, generally. 
• Bad: I have had to stop smoking, because it would be just crazy to have carried on.  I loved smoking.  I still have the occasional one, but it's very rare, because I'm now at the age when I have to take serious care of my health if I want to have a chance of living for as many more years as I can.  Yes, I now have to think about all that boring stuff like high blood pressure, blood sugar levels and cholesterol; that alone is hard enough to control.
• Good: Experience has taught me how to deal with and understand the processes of grief, loss, rejection, bad hair days, anxiety, etc etc.
• Bad/Ugly: I have to take about 30 photos before I find one or two I can use for social media/guest blog posts without thinking 'Jesus H Christ' every time I see them. And no, I will never photoshop them, because that's just nuts.
• Good: I'm glad I had my youth before the women's liberation backlash; I feel saddened by the way in which so many young girls dress like hookers and feel under pressure to look and be sexually available.  But perhaps that is another blog post.

I took this one to show a friend my white hairline!!!  Thanks goodness for hairdressers 😃

Stuff to bear in mind if you're going through the 50-something depression:

• It won't last forever.
• The key to being happier when you're older (and I'm talking seeing 60 on the horizon now, not just perky, youthful 50!) is accepting it and learning to enjoy this new phase of your life.  And only not doing stuff if it doesn't feel right, not because you think you're 'too old' to do it.  The phrase 'too old' is different for everyone.  For instance, I am too old to wear leopard print leggings/go to noisy pubs.  I am not too old to *** insert something you are not too old to do/be in comments, if you wish!***
• The menopause is a normal part of a woman's life, not an illness.  Ideally, all the bleak times in our lives (bereavement, heartbreak, etc) are easier to cope with in the long run if you face and accept them, work through them, instead of masking them with chemicals.  But this is only 'ideally'; of course I understand why some people choose HRT or feel they need anti-depressants for a while; many of us choose the pills route at some point in our lives. I used Prozac to help me deal with PMT for a few years, and it worked, but I think the key is not to let it go on for too long.
• Skin care works, and makes you feel nice.  My skin is not too bad for my age, and I am sure this is partly due to slavishly slapping on the moisturiser and Tropics Organic Elixir.  It doesn't have to be expensive; I use E45 during the day because my skin is so dry that it needs moisturising every few hours, and I can't afford to spend £60 a fortnight on face cream!
• 

•  Long baths filled with nice smells, walks in beautiful places, reading good books and watching escapist stuff on telly make you feel good, too (and it is a sure sign of old age to think of 'a nice bath' as something of a treat, but there you go!).
• My mother told me that the happiest part of her marriage to my father was when they were in their 60s and 70s.  And I am actually happier now than I have ever been.

• We are so lucky to be at this age, at this point in history, generally.  Even 50 years ago, women of our age were thought of as irrelevant by so many people.  Now, though, it is generally accepted that this is but another stage of life, and can bring with it new discoveries, new experiences and a different sort of happiness.

Other 50-something stuff you might like to read:

Are you in danger of becoming an old fogey? by Sally Cronin

Not Invisible by Tracey Scott Townsend

Tamara Goriely on Tom Willams' blog:
Older women and sport: yet another gender gap

Loving The Fifty Something blog 
~ Sam Smith on Twitter


 

Things that make one feel old....

Yesterday I was in Home Bargains, and was pleased to note that whoever puts on the music to entertain shoppers whilst they peruse the extensive range of cut-price household cleaning materials and toiletries (nowt like a bit of Kool and the Gang with your Mr Muscle) was no doubt in my age group and probably indulging themselves with some memories.

(Incidentally, the best supermarket for music is Morrissons in Cromer, Norfolk - unusually light rock orientated, rather than crap pop stuff.  Lots of Steely Dan.  Yes, that was me grooving down Tinned Vegetables giving it "I've seen your picture ~Your name in lights above it", etc ) 

Anyway, as I was saying, I was at the checkout queue, still enjoying these sounds of the 70s, when someone asked the old dear behind the till the name of the particular tune that was playing.  She didn't know.  I looked up and said "Liquidator by The Harry J Allstars.  I remember it from 1971." (yes, yes, I know, it actually came out in 1969).  The "old dear" smiled at me (pityingly?) and said these words:  "Oh, I wouldn't have known that, it was... before my time."

Ouch!!!!

Much though I was terrified of skinheads in the early 70s, I did kinda like some of their music.  So here's Liquidator.  

New beginnings, life begining at 40, first day of spring, etc!

I wrote this last week...

I was taking my morning constitutional this morning in the park, enjoying the sunshine and looking at the crocuses; even though I like autumn and winter better than the warmer/lighter months, there's something so smile-inducing about the first signs of spring life.  New beginnings are forever a thing of magic and possibility, are they not?  

Talking of new beginnings, change, etc, I was also thinking about an email I'd had from my friend Peregrine (not his real name) this morning.  We'd spoken recently about a mutual friend, who I will call Lucinda.  Neither of us had heard much from her for some while.  However, Peregrine told me he'd 'messaged' with her the night before.  I asked how she was; Peregrine said that she seemed down in the dumps, a bit 'blahhh' and 'like everything was over, her life was just going to carry on the same as it is now, forever' about which she was fairly pissed off.

Lucinda is 40.  I am a 'wee' bit older than that.  This week Lucinda will be 41, which Peregrine says was depressing her further, particularly as she works in a very image conscious/youth worshipping orientated business (she's gorgeous, by the way!).  I was a bit "oo-er" when I reached my 40s, too, so I've written this to everyone who feels similarly about it:

Dear Lucinda and other People-Who-Think-Life-Ends-At-40:

It so doesn't!  A whole bunch of stuff happens after the jowls start sagging and the grey hairs and crows feet appear, and you appreciate it all more when you're older, too.  Since my 40th birthday, I have:

• Moved counties twice.  I would never have predicted either move as I drank into the early hours at my 40th birthday party.  Amazing what life can throw up at you, eh? 
• Published ten books.  I wouldn't have predicted that, either, as Kindles weren't around!  I was writing at the time but the only chance of my ever being read by anyone aside from family and close friends was to find an agent and be traditionally published (likelihood: miniscule). 
• Discovered life 'online' - no, it's not real life, but it kind of is, too.  It's weird.
• Had about five different jobs.  
• Made stacks and stacks of new friends (both in 'real' life and this strange online one) through jobs, house moves, my writing life, a social networking site or two and the 'real' social life I used to have (!!), some of whom I know will be friends for a long time. 
• Discovered and developed new interests.
•  Seen my niece, Freya, born (well, not actually being born - you know what I mean)

Freya with my dad, about 2012

• Ended a less than satisfactory marriage and got married again, and had another long (five year) relationship and three short ones.
• Visited places in the UK I'd never been to before, and been in an aeroplane for the first time (look, I know it's pathetic, I just haven't travelled much!)
• Heard new music, read new books, seen new films...it's endless. 

In a nutshell, more good things have happened since I turned forty than in all the years before it.  Hands up who thinks I ought to send this to Lucinda (bearing in mind that she and I only met in 2008, too!)......

Eleven signs that you're not just GETTING old - you've GOT THERE!

• At last, you understand why your aged parents like watching Miss Marple and Dad's Army...

• You go to do something like put the washing on, and discover you actually put it on about five minutes ago, though you have absolutely no recollection of doing so.

• You fancy a cup of tea and a toasted teacake when you come back from shopping.

• You think back fondly to the times of no internet and mobile phones, and tell people that it was much better, then.

• Instead of leaping forward with a bright smile and your best pose, you now avoid cameras.  And mirrors.

• You try on the sexy high heels you haven't worn for some years, and wonder why on earth you ever put yourself through it.

• Since you last went to a wedding, you've been to at least five funerals.

• A younger friend shows you the new 'retro' style she can do on her new camera - and it makes her photos look just like all those ones in your photo album, of you when you were her age...

(and you actually have photo albums, too...)

• You are unaffected by pop culture, fashion and social trends as you've seen it all before, and know it's all just cyclical, anyway.

• All the actors you fancy are at least 45...
• 

• You've smiled and nodded to at least half of these, and have your own to add, too!