So I dropped something the other day. When I was younger I would just bend over and pick it up. Nowadays before I do that with all the incumbent risks bending over now presents, I calculate if I really need it, if I can do without it.

I tell you what, this getting old thing is relentless and has changed the way I think. There are endless euphemisms of course, usually employed in some desperate attempt to avoid the ‘old’ word: The Golden Years, well seasoned, experienced, mature and many others.

My ass! The word is ‘old’. Time to embrace it.

I saw the most incredible full moon recently, a Super Blue Moon. It received widespread media coverage, all of it exclaiming that this phenomenon would not be seen again until 2037. Now that is a long way away right? I mean, I now calculate how many more Rugby World Cups I will see, Olympic Games. I have now officially given up any hope of seeing my Vancouver Canucks win the Stanley Cup. Let’s just say I’d take the over on me seeing the next Super Blue Moon.

“Hmmm” I thought to myself. “I guess I had better take this in now.” the unstated subtext being ‘on account of you may not be here in 2037’. Of course I don’t say that part out loud, it is unsettling for my children (I guess writing it doesn’t count somehow) but the passing of time is definitely a new filter through which much of my thinking must now pass.

I was recently at my dentist. Turns out I need a root canal. A young dentist and his even younger assistant patiently explained to me that I should really get a root canal and crown, rather than just the root canal and fill. The latter would leave me with a functional tooth and cost a fraction of the crown.

“Of course the crown will last a lifetime.” said the enthusiastic young dentist.

“Oh, so a ten year warranty?” I replied wryly.

“No, your lifetime” he persisted.

“I’m 74” I said “I don’t book that far ahead anymore.” And I smiled.

He hesitated a moment longer and then broke out into a broad smile.

“Okay” he turned to his assistant “Let’s book Tony in for a root and fill.”

I’m not quite sure when I officially recognized that I’m old. They say we all have a moment when it happens. Recent studies suggest that humans age distinctly at two times in their lives, when we are forty and then again at sixty. What a load of hogwash*. Guarantee you that research was done by scientists who have yet to hit either benchmark.

*Using ‘hogwash’ BTW. Another sure sign that I am ‘old’.

And none of this is made any easier by the unevenness of the ageing experience. Aching knees, a sore back, never ever ever, ever again being able to sleep past seven in the morning, peeing three times each night, little blue pills. It is absolutely relentless sprinkled as it is with moments of HOPE always followed by an equal portion of DISAPPOINTMENT. I was working with a client recently. We were on a Zoom call with a young designer. I had never met with this designer in person but had worked with her online for some time so she knew who I was. She had never seen me. During a break in our Zoom call I’m told she turned to my friend,

“I’ve worked with Tony before. His voice is so young (HOPE). I had no idea he was so old!” (DISAPPOINTMENT)

And then there is the issue of acknowledging that you really are old. It’s the moment in time when you actually feel closest to your old but still usable clothes, the moment you take them to the consignment store, once revered and respected now steam cleaned and hung up, put out of the way. Consigned. All a bit disappointing really but it’s okay. In fairness though, most of us just don’t like being called old. It’s a jagged little pill to swallow and hey, sometimes my sweater is on backwards and inside out.

What? I did that when I was young, just so you know.

The moment when I finally realized I am old was at a Save On grocery store shortly after we had moved to Nanaimo BC. It was a couple of years ago. I was chatting to the very nice young cashier about nothing in particular. It’s what I do. After the bags were packed away in my cart, she turned to me, receipt in hand and said it.

“Thank you Dear, have a nice day!”

And there it was. The announcement, the societal declaration, the final adjudication, the inescapable judgement rendered from such an unexpected source, one for which I could not possibly prepare. It was as though a thousand watt klieg lamp had lit me up, the in-store announcer glibly announcing,

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please kindly welcome Mr. Tony Peyton. This is his first day being Old. Congratulations Tony. Be sure to pick up your free package of Depends at the pharmacy.”

Now look, I am not complaining. Well, I am of course but who wants to acknowledge that in writing. I enjoy good health and an active mind. My wife Mac is my devoted companion and keeps a watchful eye on me, you know for the ‘just in case’ moments that seem to become ‘well, we could see that coming’ events as we get older. As an aside I am owed some credit for choosing my wife well. It has always given me some comfort that Mac is a cardiac nurse. It just seems to me that as I age it is just more practical sleeping with a nurse, than say an accountant. Fat lot of good a bean counter will do you when you announce your chest pain. And I am well loved surrounded as I am with my four children and five grand children (at last count). I know I am lucky. I am not complaining. I’m observing.

We have recently begun to drink smoothies in the morning, coming with it promises of joint relief, moving bowels, loads of nutrition and … Kale! What diabolical mind came up wth Kale. Good Lord! The same person I venture who concocted Kambucha and unleashed that on unsuspecting consumers with its promise of good health and no more fun ever in your life again. Ever. But I digress.

Mac came home with a months supply of spinach, carrots and frozen fruits of various kinds, a smart consumer in action to be sure. And one more thing. A 2.48 litre/2.3 kilo jar, vat, bin, drum of Organic Virgin Coconut Oil, an essential element in the smoothy, to be dispensed one teaspoon per serving.

If coconut oil don’t make you regular, ain’t nuthin’ gonna.

But here’s the thing because I am speaking of being old, THAT is a lot of coconut oil. That is a ‘This will see him out’ amount of coconut oil. And I’m not blaming my wife here. She can be forgiven. She is much younger than I am, a senior by category but not yet ‘old’. She doesn’t understand. Besides what’s the worst thing that can happen. At least she’ll still have plenty of coconut oil left.

So, time to go. Nap time. That’s another good thing about being old. One can blather on for ages and then abruptly stop and no one pays any mind.

I’m gonna buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight.