You Know You’re Getting Old...

This October I will turn 65.  Yes, I’ve heard all of the “60 is the new 50” talk, and plenty of “65 today isn’t like 65 used to be,” but still, 65 SEEMS like it should be old even if people keep insisting that it really isn’t old.  After all, can I really call myself “middle-aged” at this stage?  If this is the middle, is 100 the end?  Let’s admit it, 65 is at least GETTING OLD.  For those who aren’t there yet (also for those who are), I offer this list of telltale signs that we are GROWING OLD.  But at least we’re still growing, right?

You Know You’re Getting Old When:

You’re not so much worried about your hair turning gray as you are about your hair disappearing entirely. Yes, ladies, I’m talking to you.

You seriously consider a visit to the Wizard on Park & 73rd for a little “work.”

You notice that the husbands of many of your friends look old enough to be their fathers.

You complete a survey and enter your demographic information into that box that reads “65+,” knowing full well that you are demographically undesirable to anyone who isn’t selling life monitors, reverse mortgages, adult diapers or Polygrip.

You use the phrase “back in the day” frequently.

You realize that three of the Supreme Court Justices are younger than you (Sotomayor, Roberts and Kagen).

You have been friends with people for more than 45 years and you didn’t meet them until you were in or out of college.

You’re surprised when the mother or father of someone you know passes away because you can’t help but think, “She still had a father?”

Your conversations with your BFFs always include a segment on medical issues.

You need a doctor for some specific or general ailment and all you have to do is ask friends for a recommendation because they either have, had, or know someone who has or had the exact same thing.  First, however, you and your friends diagnose the ailment yourselves.

You equate the word “senior” with “citizen” and then with “discount” and no longer with someone in 12th grade or graduating from college.

You’re only too happy to provide a urine sample at the doctor’s office because you really need to go.  Again.

You are colder or hotter than all of the younger people in the room.

Your friends all have grandchildren, some whom are in college or married.

You find yourself listening to ‘60s radio stations because the “Oldies” stations play music from the ‘90s that isn’t from your era.

You listen to old songs on the radio and they transport you to another time in your life.

You can recall when there were only 48 states.

You remember skate keys, the Princess phone, party lines (Note for the young people, this had nothing to do with parties), skipping stones, playing jacks and hopscotch and when cars had no seatbelts.

You’re still disappointed that nothing good is on TV, even though there are hundreds of channels.  In your day, there were channels 2-4-5-7-9-11 and 13, and there really wasn’t anything on.  Oh, and back then, YOU were your own remote, having to get up and manually change the channel.  So now you can change the channel remotely, but there’s still nothing on.  But at least you don’t have to get up.

You yearn for the days the milkman came to the house so you didn’t have to go out and buy milk.

You still have clothes you bought in the 80s and you think you had better hold on to them, just in case they come back in style.

You don‘t bother to wash your hair some days and justify it by saying that “it is too dry anyway” when your hair has been oily for your whole life.

You can’t bring yourself to throw out stuff you have been saving for years, even though it has no monetary value and the sentimental value is more habit than anything else.  This is why I still have my mother’s wooden spoon and shrimp fork.

You use the term “What’s her name” to identify someone and your friends know exactly who you mean.

You are grateful when you go to an event and everyone is wearing nametags.  And if they aren’t, you introduce yourself to them because you assume they won’t remember your name just as you don’t remember theirs.

You look around the room and feel relieved if you aren’t the oldest one in the crowd.

You decry the abuse of language and punctuation that is common in the vernacular (or is that just me?) and you relish the chance to use the word “vernacular.”  (Again, just me?)

You can’t put up with bad service by a waiter, by delivery people or by someone in a store because your lifetime quota of patience has been depleted.

You cannot tolerate unwanted phone calls by people trying to scam you or sell you things you don’t want – especially since you are on the Do Not Call List.

You don’t call people before 9 AM or after 9 PM, even though you can’t sleep.  In fact, virtually nobody you know can sleep through the night, although we can all sleep through a movie or TV show.

You rarely need to set the alarm because you can’t sleep past 6 AM.

You relish a nap because, well, see above.

You can recall Derek Jeter’s rookie season.  And you remember when Joe Torre was a player.

Forget Eleanor Roosevelt and Madam Curie.  Your new heroine is Maxine on the Hallmark cards because says exactly what she is thinking.

You watch reruns of “The Golden Girls” and think, “Dorothy was only 60 in this episode?”

You survey the room or the arena in hopes of finding a handrail if you have to walk up or down the stairs.

You and everyone you know is moving to single-story houses or at least to houses where the master bedroom is on the first floor.

You need an inordinate amount of light in a room to read, cook or function at all.  Operating rooms don’t have this much light.

You need a teenager or someone in his/her 20s to help with your phone and computer.

You think “these kids today” are crazy for going out at 11PM or later and you resent anything that requires you to come home after dark.

You have reconsidered the “early bird special” and decided that it isn’t so pathetic after all.  Who wants to wait on line at a restaurant?  And besides, this way you can be home before dark.  Or at 6 PM.

You notice that people in your circle spend a lot of time watching PBS and the History Channel.

You are resigned to the fact that your life revolves around moisturizing, a must in your daily routine.

You get all dolled up – nice dress, right jewelry, hair, make-up, shoes – and look in the mirror and say to yourself, “Let’s go.  It doesn’t get any better than this.”

You can’t remember if you wore this outfit the last time you saw these people and then you realize that if YOU can’t remember, they probably can’t remember either.

You walk into a room and you don’t know why, so you return to the previous room to remind yourself, and then you get distracted by something else and never end up back in the room you went to and didn’t know why.

You always have tissues in the house.

You cherish your friends, rely on them, confide in them, complain to them, listen to them, plot revenge with them and thank God for having them.

You realize that you probably won’t fulfill those dreams of climbing mountains or backpacking through Europe if you haven’t done them by now, but…

You realize that you are still here, you’ve probably faced down a challenge or two, or raised your kids, or done your job with some degree of distinction, and you have every reason to be feel proud and damn lucky.  What the hell – who’s better than you?  And there’s always SOMEONE older than you.