Platitudes on Aging and Other Annoying Things

April 9, 2017August 14, 2017 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 26 Comments

I hate platitudes. You know those annoying statements people say to make you feel better about a situation. I come from a line of women who live long lives, into their eighties and nineties. Based on that kind of lineage, I anticipate a long life too. I’d prefer to be one of those women who age gracefully (whatever the heck that means).

My mother, a proud woman, wore her crown of white hair and the wrinkles on her face with pride. Coloring her hair would have been an insult. “I earned every one of these gray hairs raising six kids, ” she said, more times than I can count. Never at a loss for words, Mother had quite a few trite statements and tiresome clichés in her repertoire of advice. None of which prepared me for the grim reality of aging. I would’ve preferred the truth.

In honor of all aging women, I want to share a few of my mother’s favorite platitudes, sprinkled with a bit of honesty. So, grab a bottle of wine or two and brace yourself, ladies. You’re in for a bumpy ride.

Those aren’t wrinkles; they’re lines of wisdom.

No, they’re wrinkles. Your face is just the beginning. Those suckers spread faster than lines on a Google map and it ain’t pretty. You’ll wake one morning to find perky boobs that once pushed lace-trimmed bras out in nose snuggling cleavage deflated like helium filled balloon gone bad. Sexy bras get shoved to the back of the drawer and replaced with thick strapped, hard-wired versions. Once upon a time, I could slip into a sexy little lace number as quickly as it came off. Now, it’s like gymnastics — shaking, pulling, and tucking those girls into their rightful place and praying to God, they’ll stay.

Those aren’t hot flashes, they’re power surges.

Yeah right; slap CEO on my nametag and call-it-a-day. Panting, turning red in the face, and wiggling out of one’s clothes at an alarming rate, is not offering sexual favors or a lap dance. It’s a damn hot flash, and on those occasions, rest assured, I can kick ass and take names.

Your best days are in front of you. (What a crock.)

My best days were when I had the energy to work ten-hour days, enjoy happy hour with friends, make dinner, help the kids with homework, and have wild sex on the dining room table (or other impulsive places). Wild sex these days is watching the movie version and reminiscing. My body doesn’t bend that way anymore and this ain’t Hollywood. Those grunting and moaning sounds ricocheting off the walls have more to do with the pain in my hips and knees than pleasure.

Age is just a number.

No, it’s a flagrant reminder you’ve been usurped. Younger, thinner, more beautiful women are the ones turning the heads. The only heads I seem to turn these days are old men at Target. And trust me nothing brings the truth home more than an old man at Target, making a move on you.

The trick to aging gracefully is to enjoy it.

Seriously? I don’t think so. Aging is taking me kicking and screaming. I’m a proud woman (got that from mom) and vain. I never leave the house without makeup, earrings, or perfume. Penciling in the lines takes longer, but I refuse to be one of those women with lipstick half way to her nostrils. Did I mention you’ll need a magnifying mirror in your bathroom and reading glasses in every room of the house?

Forgetfulness is a form of freedom.

Freedom to roam around in circles, parking lots, highways, and room-to-room because you’ve forgotten where you are or what you’re doing. Some call this sightseeing, strolling, being disorganized, missing a turn. I call it, “Where the hell is my car? What did I come into this room for and where am I going?”

You haven’t changed at all.

Yes, I have. My face sags, my ass sags, my boobs are hard-wired, I get lost in the driveway, and can’t remember what I did yesterday, much less the last time I had spontaneous sex. My gnarled hands couldn’t open a jar or pick up a penny if you held a gun to my head. The pain of getting up and down makes me hesitant to sit. I don’t sashay, I waddle on legs stiff as iron pegs with feet, and the popping sound is not my gum, it’s my knees. Sedans (too low) are history. Give me an SUV with GPS; my sense of direction went south with my looks. And, driving at night might as well put Stevie Wonder behind the wheel. I can’t see shit.

My husband in a moment of great wisdom told me, “Honey, God made our eyes so vision would fade as we age.” He removed his glasses. “I can’t see a thing. You’re as beautiful as the first time I saw you.” He’s such a sweet talker; I’m swooning.

Gray hair is beautiful.

A few gray hairs, I can abide, but when I wake up and look as if someone dumped fertilizer on my head while I slept, enough is enough. My hairdresser is on retainer, and if my husband has to skip a meal or two for me to afford a cut and color, well all I can say is, “I’m watching his health.”

It’s better than the alternative (my all time favorite).

Ok, there’s some truth to that statement, but not much. Still, it gives me hope. They say all will be made whole in Heaven and I’m counting on it. Is sex included?

The truth

Aging sucks and someone (my mother) should have warned me. So here are a few words of wisdom from my hard-knock school of aging.

1- Repeat after me Botox is my friend. Your husband won’t notice, remember he can’t see.

2- Put your hairdresser on retainer, Clairol says, “You’re worth it.”

3- Sweating the small stuff will give you wrinkles, so don’t.

4- Invest time and money in yourself. Your husband won’t miss the groceries you’re not buying, and besides, you’ve paid your dues.

5- Enjoy the moments and laugh a lot. If we gotta go, go out with a smile on your face. How you get that smile is up to you.

To be fair.

Aging isn’t all dome and gloom. There are advantages. Life experiences have taught me about people and trust. Trivial things matter less, and I’ve figured out the important things in life. The best thing about growing older, however, is letting go of all the nonsense. Whiners and stupid people best stay back, I’ve lost my tolerance. Grow up, life isn’t fair, and there are no guarantees. Political correctness, I flushed it down the toilet where it belongs. I feel a freedom to say exactly what’s on my mind and without apology, and if someone doesn’t like this old lady, tough shit.

Your turn is coming.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.

Why I Write

July 27, 2015June 25, 2016 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 13 Comments

Chuck Wendig’s FLASH FICTION WRITING CHALLENGE: WHY I WRITE

Photo Courtesy of humintell.com

As long as I can remember, I loved putting words to paper, expanding on the great mysteries or the miseries of my young life. It was a way to get my point across without being shushed.

Introduction to the magic of words came early for me, as my mother was a voracious reader. She belonged to more than one book-of-the-month-club and even as young children, we were fortunate she passed the books to us, without censorship.

In between those many pages, I met a world of different people. Their words painted vivid pictures and gave breath to the hopes, fears, and dreams of a girl. In spite of her love of the written word, my mom repeatedly warned me, “Don’t ever put anything in writing; you don’t want others to see.” Perhaps mom’s voice was the words from her books.

It would come later as a young, naïve girl before I understood the damage others could do when words are misconstrued, distorted, taken out of context or endure the deep cut of betrayal. I learned the hard way and after that hid my words away.

I’m an average woman, professional in background, a mother, grandmother, wife, friend, and a writer. I write now because I have a voice, and I can.

I write for catharsis, a purging of past sins, regrets, hopes, and dreams.
I write to share what knowledge and experiences I’ve acquired with those I love, hopeful they’ll be spared a wrong turn or learn the joy of sunny days.
I write to voice my opinion, my values, the very things I believe make the world, and us better people.
I write not that, in the end, my singular voice matters more than others do, or will move mountains, but perhaps, it will become one of many and create a chorus of positive change.
I write to expand my imagination and free my demons; we all have them.
I write to bring pleasure and encourage others to stretch their word wings, tell stories, real or imagined.
I write to leave a legacy to those I leave behind. Egotistical perhaps, but I want to surprise them. “That was mom? Sheila? She did that?” I don’t want to be forgotten or remembered only in faded photos or as the name on a bronze marker.

I write because I believe words have power. The power to move people, change them and change the world. After years of writing by a stream in a cow pasture, hiding my words from the world, between the pages of a worn-down journal, I have found my voice, and so I write.

The Downward Trajectory of Life- How Not to Feel Irrelevant

June 24, 2015October 21, 2016 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 4 Comments

Thanks Jeff for the prompt. This free-writing exercise for day 7 of my500words, brought out a bit of melancholy.

Photo courtesy of Google & feministcurrent.com

I wished someone had told me, five, ten, or twenty years ago how hard things get when you begin the downward trajectory of life. I will turn 62 in November and in terms of the average life span in the US, 62 is still young.

However, no one prepared me for becoming irrelevant. What I mean is, as we approach this time in our lives, our children are adults, many into mid-life and the grandchildren seem to be maturing faster than the weeds in my garden.

The children you once spoke to daily or weekly are now caught up in their own immediate families. Their schedules packed running one child to dance, the other to sports practice.

While they used to run situations or decisions by you, they no longer need to, having gained a fair amount of life experiences themselves. Now, they are the parent comforting, or giving out advice to a child. Problems once seemed only insurmountable if discussed with mom are now handled with a mature and steady mind.

As a parent, on the one hand, I’m thrilled they can do it themselves. After all, that’s what all the years of parenting were for, making them independent, strong individuals capable of dealing with the ups and downs of life. On the other hand, I miss being needed.

It’s not as if they don’t want my advice (Ok, maybe sometimes), but they don’t need it. I’ve done my job. All that’s left is to sit back and relax. If only it was that easy.

Day 7

Growing old can be very lonely. So, here are a few things I wished I’d known and even though, no one is asking, a little advice. Take it or leave it, but I hope you will at least consider it for the times ahead.

Cultivate a hobby, something you enjoy early on. It will keep your hands and mind busy when the days become longer.
Cultivate friends, many of them, paying special attention to those most loyal.
“Do for others as you would have them do unto you.” It isn’t just a Bible verse; it is a way of life and when honored will reap many rewards.
Be kind, but genuine. In this hectic world where everyone seems to wear their feelings on their sleeves, it is often difficult to stay the course when the road of values divide.
Learn to disagree, agreeably – silence and acquiescence will smother you as quickly as a soft pillow pressed upon your face. There is nothing worse than a disagreeable old person.
Give more than you take in relationships, time, and money. The benefits far out weigh dividends.
Learn to listen. Sometimes, all anyone needs is an ear.
Stay informed don’t lose your voice, it matters.
Stay active and honor your body. The years ahead will present challenges and the better prepared your body is; the better you will weather the storm.
Remember your father and mother. Check on them, call them, and ask the questions you want to ask now. There will come a time, when the answers are lost.

As a nurse, I understood the cycle of life. Much like the 3 act structure in a novel, we are born, live, and die. The second act is where all the exciting things happen. The third act of life brings resolution. Make it exciting all the way to end and have no regrets.

A Tribute to Daddy

June 21, 2015October 21, 2016 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 2 Comments

“Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee.” Exodus 20:12

Today is Father’s Day and all over the country, families will celebrate with cards, gifts, phone calls and gatherings. For many, however, there is no father. Some have never known theirs; others see him infrequently, through bars, or lost him too soon.

I was five years old when I lost my father to a brain aneurysm; he was 32 years old. Although, I don’t have many memories of my childhood, I do have memories of my daddy. I remember laughter, a tight-knit family, and a sense of security. My daddy had a fun, mischievous side to him and he loved us.

A memory I will always cherish is the Sunday me and my two sisters misbehaved in church, or so mom said. We were warned, “You just wait until your father gets home.” Daddy closed the door to our bedroom, removed his belt and told us, “Girls, when I hit the bed I want you to cry real loud.” He gave that bed the spanking of a lifetime and satisfied mom’s demand we be punished. Our suppressed giggles and the smile on my daddy’s face will stay with me always.

I also remember the day he got sick and the last time I saw him in his hospital bed, just before surgery. Alert and smiling, he hugged and kissed each one of us. He told us he loved us and to be good to mama. Daddy died on the operating room table before the surgery began. I remember my cousin lifting me over the casket, sitting in our family living room, to kiss him goodbye. Losing him was a tremendous loss, but it would be years before I realized the magnitude.

Recently, I reconnected with some of my cousins on daddy’s side and we visited my 93-year-old Aunt, daddy’s only remaining sibling. With a crystal clear mind, she shared stories with me. She validated those early memories and gave me a few new ones to cherish. My aunt told me, he was a good man and “crazy about your mama and all of you kids.” It is something I knew deep in my heart even as a child.

Daddy, I honor you today for the father you were to me, my sisters, and brother. I did not have you long, but you left a lasting impression on the woman I have become. Thank you for the image of making mom laugh. Thank you for the Sunday’s at Grandma’s and always stopping by the State line store to spend the silver dollar Papa gave to each of us. I remember what you always said as you pulled to a stop in front of the store, “I bet that money’s burning a hole in your pocket.” Thanks Daddy for letting me help you wash your car, play in the snow and not spanking me for getting in the hen-house. Thank you for the memories of love, Daddy and showing me, once upon a time the true meaning of family. .

Happy Father’s Day,

I love you

You can follow me on Facebook at SheilaMGood and Twitter @cofcmom.

Day 4