I realize that I can’t see myself getting older, even when I look in the mirror. I apparently only see those around me getting older. Every day it seems, I watch our dog Tinker move a little slower, often refusing to do stairs, and well behind the walking pace of her younger canine sister. Dark age spots cover her body, along with grayer hair and other skin imperfections.  I know that a similar deterioration is taking place with me, but I refuse to acknowledge it. My wife is also five years younger, so it’s often hard to keep up with her energy, especially since I expend a lot of mine on a daily morning run, while she gets ready for work. In addition, she pays much more attention to her skin, hair, and teeth than I do. As is often said in regret: “if I knew I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of my body.” My son and grandchildren, once the standard of gauging my mortality, now live too far away to use them as a daily measuring stick of the aging process. Consequently, it’s hard to comprehend that my son is forty-three and his oldest will soon be eleven.

My lack of awareness about aging is a factor of my strong inner child, keeping me young at heart. However, my wife pointed out a woman in a restaurant recently that she felt had similar facial features, and all I saw was an old woman that looked “nothing like me.” I’m adopted and have halfheartedly tried to find a birth mother connection, but I’ve never wanted a relationship. My sister is also adopted and was able to form a relationship with her birth mother that has turned somewhat sour. Loving one mother was always enough for me, but curiosity about someone that looks like me has always been important. A simple photo was all I ever wanted, and had I watched my own mother getting older, I might have a different perspective on how aging has affected me. I definitely did not want my wife to approach this woman stranger to see if there was a possible relationship, but clearly my closest friend sees me much differently than I see myself.

My wife’s recent perception of my appearance is eye opening to me. I try to see that in the mirror each day, but what stares back at me is a “youthful” forty-year old. I still find it hard to believe that I’m sixty-six years of age! I haven’t lost my curly locks, my eye sockets are not swollen or dark, and while there are creases around my mouth and my neck shows turkey signs, I don’t have a lot of wrinkles. I’ve also recently noticed some darkening spots on my forehead, the result of sun damage. The daily runs keep me fit, but it now takes twice as long to run a mile than it once did in my prime. In addition, the tips of my fingers and toes have lost some feeling and my hands tend to shake, due to a touch of peripheral neuropathy, and I’ve never had great flexibility. Stretching and regular chiropractor visits have helped keep the stiffness out of my lower back, so bending over is not as painful as it once was. My waist line is definitely thicker, but I’ve somehow maintained the same weight for the past twenty-five years. There’s more flab and less muscle, but I’ve lost any interest for six-pack abs, since now I only possess the fatty insulation to keep it cold.

Today is a monumental post in my blog, since my original goal was to do one a day during the first year of my retirement. There are still 17 days left until the first anniversary and I’ve already achieved that 365 number. In the background is the TV tuned to the Discovery Channel and another survivalist show that seem to fascinate me, despite my personal lack of skill or desire to try to survive in an outdoor environment. Give Me Shelter! Whether it’s a tropical jungle, bush country, the wilderness, underwater, or on the beach, if there’s not a luxury hotel, a hot shower, and a fine chef within walking distance, I will never survive for more than a few hours. Maybe these “background noise” shows provide plenty of justification for my shortcomings. For the same reasons, I could also never be a cowboy, yet I’ve enjoyed Netflix series like “Longmire” and “Godless.” I also watched the Ken Burns documentary this morning, “Horatio’s Drive” about the first transcontinental automobile race in the early 1900’s. Despite the hardships of driving on undeveloped, dirt roads from San Francisco to New York City, at least they were able to find hotel rooms along the route. I could do that, but wouldn’t have had the mechanical skills to keep the car running. To give you an idea how limited my survival and accomplishment skills truly are, I was proud of myself for simply getting a library card, checking-out the free documentary, and figuring out how to use the D.V.D. player.

I managed some constructive tasks today, including changing dentists, resolving a Go Daddy concern with my website, battling with Apple customer service over my watch problems, and finding a solution for buying some new glasses. My current eyewear was damaged during the Hood to Coast Relay a few months ago and my wife’s company insurance company has different providers than my previous employer’s plan. These are all hassles of retirement, but fortunately I now have more time (but not patience) to deal with them all properly.

We delayed “Date Night” until tonight, eliminating my night to cook this week. When all is said and done, I will have been out-and-about frequently this week, including a return to my former workplace for lunch with a fellow I.U. grad, doctor, optometrist, and chiropractor appointments, plus several errands and a trip to the dog spa for monthly grooming. I was also able to get some laundry, cleaning, and dusting duties accomplished. Tomorrow is the weekly leadership meeting at Buffalo Wild Wings, and Saturday Night we have tickets for Star Wars in 3D. Next week my wife’s youngest daughter is coming to visit from Washington D.C., so there will be very little “my time.” (See Post #30). At the end of next week, I’ll be another week older, further threatened by more wrinkles, age spots, and creases.