Nonessential Items
Age is irreversible. As sure as real time accelerates in only one direction, no pause or fast forward options here, not that a sane person would want to speed up the process, so we’re stuck with it, like glue on the bottom of a shoe and just as messy. Scientific research claims to hold the secret to slowing down or minimizing the detrimental aspects of aging, our insatiable hubris apparently boundless. Luckily the mind is its own place, superior to the body anatomically and spiritually and, as Shakespeare so prophetically writes “can make a heaven of hell or a hell of heaven.” Requiring some creativity and willing participants, best accomplished in pairs, as the following exchange between my husband and I will demonstrate, we’re never too old to be young.
The grocery list crumpling in his hand will be on the floor of the garage before he gets it into his pocket. Whatever! There are more important things to fuss about, his driving for one, but I keep my fingers crossed, his glasses clean, and usually tell the neighbors when I let him loose. Increasingly irreverent about most things, he mutters to himself something about the cost of gas, the cost of groceries, and cars that are too complicated to fix.
Climbing into our vehicle he pulls the door shut with excessive force, and with added theatrical gesturing grabs the wheel, hoisting himself up but with not that much to hoist anymore. Squirming for the best spot, the garbled words that tumble through his lips as he reeves the engine and backs out of the garage without checking, are calculated to annoy me, his most accessible audience/target, and it works. The words are impossible to hear and float above my antennae, annoyingly. They make no sense, but I can still yell over them.
“And don’t forget the shampoo.”
“Yah, sure, along with my box of condoms, supersize.”
Just normal everyday banter, this brief exchange is without malice but packed with innuendo. We have an understanding, my husband and I, an established set of behaviors that claim taking ourselves too seriously could be fatal. I might kill him or he might kill me, but we always tread lightly when not alone as our inside jokes may not be appropriate for public consumption, or could psychologically damage small children.
The point of this particular last minute exchange as he speeds away is that neither of the above items, shampoo or condoms, would be of any use to either of us any more, given my bald head and his, well you get the picture. That being the case, we get to laugh instead of cry at the irreversible predicaments that confront us, life unfolding as it will with no serious side effects, as long as we can still exploit the obvious. I could see his face through the windshield as he turned his head and flashed a grin in my direction, the car swerving sharply as he accelerates down the street, missing a small tree by a few inches.
Such exchanges are more frequent now that time has us in its grasp, not that much to do anymore. Moving with rather than against the tide is not without tangible benefits. It prevents drowning for one, wasting our breath complaining and it never hurts not to have to spend money on what are no longer essential items. There are other bonuses to ponder, regarding such nonessential items, and in light of my shiny head, hairlessness has not been the tragedy I was told to anticipate.
A case in point is my life long safety obsession to double check everything electrical, my curling iron in the bathroom for one, to ensure it is turned off, is no longer a problem. The iron, which I haven’t touched in years, and forgot what it looks like gathers dust in the laundry room. I have lost count of how many times I turned the car around and returned home to double check something electrical. Now with no need of a curling iron, those particular worries have vanished and I can leave the house with carefree abandon. I might still wonder if the clothe dryer had stopped once I’m out of the house but with some effort it has gradually become that something else I can now cross off my worry list.
My hair was never my crowning glory and after years of unhappy visits to the “best beauty parlor” in town, I still came away looking like my old self, no magical transformation into the superbly coiffured individual I desperately wanted to be. And then there is the cost of a simple shampoo and cut, which amounts to a down payment on a small building. Hairlessness is good for the bank account.
On any given day I use to give myself a good two hours to get ready to go anywhere, take a shower, wash my hair with a specific “restore full body” label on the shampoo followed by the “get rid of the frizzes forever” conditioner, all of which were blatant falsehoods, I was set. Now the towel dry or let dry by itself precaution on the conditioner label, excluded the immediate use of the blow dryer. That meant another 20-30 minute interlude before turning up the edges of my hair and trying to eliminate the frizzes with the curing iron, and no it never worked and time beaconed. Many an event was half over by the time I arrived, but I get to sit in the same pew on Sunday now because we arrive on time. What’s not to love.
The wig thing was good too, once I found one. Shocked when friends and family said “oh, I thought that was your own” which may have been a polite lie but who was I to argue with a good thing. The more genuine comment came from a fellow chemo patient who said, “aren’t you lucky you haven’t lost any of your hair yet.” I may just keep wearing it even after my own comes back depending on whether my hidden hair follicles had sufficient rest to get it right this time.
As far as my husband’s reference to that other aforementioned product he no longer needs, talk about nonessential items, I will not even attempt to approach this delicate subject in any detail, the specifics of which may destroy our reputations. However, I think it safe to say our private discussions might frequently be provoked by his unobtrusive observations while in attendance in the change rooms or showers of the local gym. His stories of a completely different nature, provide ample figures of speech to challenge the imagination and they keep us laughing well inside the private rooms of our own demented minds.
Screeching brakes echo against the walls of our garage heralding his return home. He has made it back safely without incidents, warning tickets from polite police officers or observable dints or scratches on him, not the car, that’s a given. There is a grin on his face that can be caused by any number of things; a 50% bargain he has come across, or an encounter with an old friend, but this is different. The eyebrows are arched high above their normal scrunched position, and there is a swagger in his gait belonging to a much younger man that I haven’t seen for years. He shuts the door with a nonchalant kick of his foot backwards.
“I would give anything to have a picture of his face. You wouldn’t believe it. Kinda surprise, admiration and respect all rolled into one. I really had him going and it was swell, just swell. Honestly, it was worth the price, so don’t go complaining about the cost. Money well spent I’d say. ”
He threw a small bag down on the table almost knocking over my tea and proceeded to remove his coat, smiling in a way the Montreal Canadiennes winning a hockey game can only make him smile but better. The content of the bag fell out in front of me on the table rolling several times before it stopped. The reason for his smug countenance becoming instantly clear. The large box of condoms that rolled out, were labeled supersize, and probably cost him as much as a tank of gas. There are some things that are just worth it, apparently.
“That clerk, sure looked surprised he did, even flustered so I gave him a wink just to rub it in. Had trouble giving me eye contact as well as the right change. As God is my witness. You just had to be there. Oh, it was swell! Oh yah and they were out of your shampoo, sorry!”
Age is irreversible. As sure as real time accelerates in only one direction, no pause or fast forward options here, not that a sane person would want to speed up the process, so we’re stuck with it, like glue on the bottom of a shoe and just as messy. Scientific research claims to hold the secret to slowing down or minimizing the detrimental aspects of aging, our insatiable hubris apparently boundless. Luckily the mind is its own place, superior to the body anatomically and spiritually and, as Shakespeare so prophetically writes “can make a heaven of hell or a hell of heaven.” Requiring some creativity and willing participants, best accomplished in pairs, as the following exchange between my husband and I will demonstrate, we’re never too old to be young.
The grocery list crumpling in his hand will be on the floor of the garage before he gets it into his pocket. Whatever! There are more important things to fuss about, his driving for one, but I keep my fingers crossed, his glasses clean, and usually tell the neighbors when I let him loose. Increasingly irreverent about most things, he mutters to himself something about the cost of gas, the cost of groceries, and cars that are too complicated to fix.
Climbing into our vehicle he pulls the door shut with excessive force, and with added theatrical gesturing grabs the wheel, hoisting himself up but with not that much to hoist anymore. Squirming for the best spot, the garbled words that tumble through his lips as he reeves the engine and backs out of the garage without checking, are calculated to annoy me, his most accessible audience/target, and it works. The words are impossible to hear and float above my antennae, annoyingly. They make no sense, but I can still yell over them.
“And don’t forget the shampoo.”
“Yah, sure, along with my box of condoms, supersize.”
Just normal everyday banter, this brief exchange is without malice but packed with innuendo. We have an understanding, my husband and I, an established set of behaviors that claim taking ourselves too seriously could be fatal. I might kill him or he might kill me, but we always tread lightly when not alone as our inside jokes may not be appropriate for public consumption, or could psychologically damage small children.
The point of this particular last minute exchange as he speeds away is that neither of the above items, shampoo or condoms, would be of any use to either of us any more, given my bald head and his, well you get the picture. That being the case, we get to laugh instead of cry at the irreversible predicaments that confront us, life unfolding as it will with no serious side effects, as long as we can still exploit the obvious. I could see his face through the windshield as he turned his head and flashed a grin in my direction, the car swerving sharply as he accelerates down the street, missing a small tree by a few inches.
Such exchanges are more frequent now that time has us in its grasp, not that much to do anymore. Moving with rather than against the tide is not without tangible benefits. It prevents drowning for one, wasting our breath complaining and it never hurts not to have to spend money on what are no longer essential items. There are other bonuses to ponder, regarding such nonessential items, and in light of my shiny head, hairlessness has not been the tragedy I was told to anticipate.
A case in point is my life long safety obsession to double check everything electrical, my curling iron in the bathroom for one, to ensure it is turned off, is no longer a problem. The iron, which I haven’t touched in years, and forgot what it looks like gathers dust in the laundry room. I have lost count of how many times I turned the car around and returned home to double check something electrical. Now with no need of a curling iron, those particular worries have vanished and I can leave the house with carefree abandon. I might still wonder if the clothe dryer had stopped once I’m out of the house but with some effort it has gradually become that something else I can now cross off my worry list.
My hair was never my crowning glory and after years of unhappy visits to the “best beauty parlor” in town, I still came away looking like my old self, no magical transformation into the superbly coiffured individual I desperately wanted to be. And then there is the cost of a simple shampoo and cut, which amounts to a down payment on a small building. Hairlessness is good for the bank account.
On any given day I use to give myself a good two hours to get ready to go anywhere, take a shower, wash my hair with a specific “restore full body” label on the shampoo followed by the “get rid of the frizzes forever” conditioner, all of which were blatant falsehoods, I was set. Now the towel dry or let dry by itself precaution on the conditioner label, excluded the immediate use of the blow dryer. That meant another 20-30 minute interlude before turning up the edges of my hair and trying to eliminate the frizzes with the curing iron, and no it never worked and time beaconed. Many an event was half over by the time I arrived, but I get to sit in the same pew on Sunday now because we arrive on time. What’s not to love.
The wig thing was good too, once I found one. Shocked when friends and family said “oh, I thought that was your own” which may have been a polite lie but who was I to argue with a good thing. The more genuine comment came from a fellow chemo patient who said, “aren’t you lucky you haven’t lost any of your hair yet.” I may just keep wearing it even after my own comes back depending on whether my hidden hair follicles had sufficient rest to get it right this time.
As far as my husband’s reference to that other aforementioned product he no longer needs, talk about nonessential items, I will not even attempt to approach this delicate subject in any detail, the specifics of which may destroy our reputations. However, I think it safe to say our private discussions might frequently be provoked by his unobtrusive observations while in attendance in the change rooms or showers of the local gym. His stories of a completely different nature, provide ample figures of speech to challenge the imagination and they keep us laughing well inside the private rooms of our own demented minds.
Screeching brakes echo against the walls of our garage heralding his return home. He has made it back safely without incidents, warning tickets from polite police officers or observable dints or scratches on him, not the car, that’s a given. There is a grin on his face that can be caused by any number of things; a 50% bargain he has come across, or an encounter with an old friend, but this is different. The eyebrows are arched high above their normal scrunched position, and there is a swagger in his gait belonging to a much younger man that I haven’t seen for years. He shuts the door with a nonchalant kick of his foot backwards.
“I would give anything to have a picture of his face. You wouldn’t believe it. Kinda surprise, admiration and respect all rolled into one. I really had him going and it was swell, just swell. Honestly, it was worth the price, so don’t go complaining about the cost. Money well spent I’d say. ”
He threw a small bag down on the table almost knocking over my tea and proceeded to remove his coat, smiling in a way the Montreal Canadiennes winning a hockey game can only make him smile but better. The content of the bag fell out in front of me on the table rolling several times before it stopped. The reason for his smug countenance becoming instantly clear. The large box of condoms that rolled out, were labeled supersize, and probably cost him as much as a tank of gas. There are some things that are just worth it, apparently.
“That clerk, sure looked surprised he did, even flustered so I gave him a wink just to rub it in. Had trouble giving me eye contact as well as the right change. As God is my witness. You just had to be there. Oh, it was swell! Oh yah and they were out of your shampoo, sorry!”
