So seventy!

A deep line appeared near my left eyebrow like an ugly scar.  When I pulled the skin taut (could Botox fix this?), the line dug deeper.  This is the raid of the 70 monster, 10 months short, according to my calendar.

It drove home a concern that a classmate raised in a school reunion, “Letty, do you feel that things are any different from the ’60s?  Nothing in my thinking and feeling changed.”  Was that a trick question?  I nodded cautiously.  “Weeelll, except in my bones,” I replied.  “The fingers, wrists, shoulders, hips, spine, knees, and toes, to be exact.”  Her husband retorted, “That’s why you ladies must keep on exercising, stretch-stretch, and work out your muscles.  The muscles are your foundation pillars that will continue to prop and support your bones in order to stay upright and keep you free of any ambulatory and walking supports.  Without firm muscles, your bones will crumble and you will stoop and stoop further.”  Think: Snow White’s wicked stepmother in disguise as this malevolent, deformed hag.  You’re the hag, a potential one, if you don’t watch out.

This husband was talking from experience as he gulped another piece of mango torte.  Three of us around the table nodded fretfully.  Oh!  What we’d give to keep the muscles strong.  Give or give up?

Come on.  I’ve given up on so many things already, including blotting or un-friend-ing some people who proved to be toxic, precursors of distress.  Here are random thoughts about aging:

• At 70, the biggest lie I tell myself is “I don’t need to write that down, I’ll remember it.” Follow this blueprint:  Simply re-trace your steps and once you’re in familiar surroundings, eureka! The memory comes back.  However, it may take two or three times of re-tracing before you remember.  Trust me, beats writing it down.

• Wouldn’t it be great if we could put ourselves in the dryer for 10 minutes, come out wrinkle-free and three sizes smaller? Of course, you’d have to be Jessica Rabbit to pull this one off.  However, there are amazing, local, facial products that do deliver, promising nothing more than you “looking refreshed as if returning from a weekend beauty spa.”  Beware of that train-tunnel look, and worse, the wide-eyed look if the brows had been drastically stretched up to the forehead. Someone described it tersely, “When your nipples have reached your chin, you’re in a big mess, sistah.”  Most shocking, lamentable scoop is that some invasive procedures are irreversible.

• My people skills are just fine. It’s my tolerance to pin brains that needs work. Spot on.  I am intolerant of anyone who has made it a habit to prick and needle me with her lunacy and peskiness.  Maybe, I’d hold my piece if the makulit (importunate) happens to be a young kid, just being curious, therefore still cute and adorable.  Avoid overbearing, pontificating people; they serve as a warning, what one can horribly become.   

• The kids text me “plz” which is shorter than please. I text back “no” which is shorter than “yes.” Some old formula still works.  Message is delivered clear and straight to the point.  Most reassuring is the fact that behind an aging frame and graying crown, there is still a wise woman who speaks with words right and gentle, with authority (especially when defending the truth), and with conviction.

• Oops! Did I roll my eyes out loud? In short, I must work on keeping my mouth zipped.  Especially when I’m so tempted to give a piece of advice to my grownup offspring.  “Anak, at least, you heard it from your m-o-t-h-e-r, not a judge or an arresting officer.”

• Chocolate comes from cocoa which is a tree.  That makes it a plant, meaning tadah! Chocolate is salad! Calling all seniors:  Do you ever get this unusual craving to stuff yourself with nuts, potato chips, desserts, and chocolates?  It can’t be cheating when you lock up the pantry a week before your blood tests.  After you’ve purged all that toxin from your system, then you can ask the lab nurse to draw blood.  Think HDL count multiplying and the nasty LDL plummeting down.  

• I’m going to retire and live off of my savings. Not sure what I’ll do the second week. This is the Maxine in me going berserk.  Of course, that’s not wise.  Ideally, the best setup is not to count on your children but still have that snug feeling that they’d never abandon you anyway — out of filial love and affection for you.  That’s the mystery of being nurturers:  You love and you give without expecting anything in return.

Am copying this to all swell and sensational septuagenarians before they send this to me. Have they?

Happy 70th!  Be well, be dazzling, be out of this world, be blessed.