Destiny

This scroll hangs on the wall in our living room. Smart Guy bought it on our last trip to China, and I like to look at it and ponder the brush strokes. It is the Chinese character for "Destiny." Or at least that's what I thought it was for all these years, but when I went to Google to look it up just now, it's not the one that comes up. It looks entirely different. Hmmm. It makes me wonder what the meaning of this symbol really is. Whatever it means, it has always drawn me to think of movement. We move through life, through our years on the planet, and one can imagine that our destiny in some way, is preordained.

I've been wondering about my mental faculties lately. I've always had a facility to remember numbers; telephone numbers are very easy for me, and I don't often need to look up a number more than once or twice, even if I don't call it very often. The other day I went to the Food Co-op and usually give the five-digit account number to the cashier, but I simply couldn't remember it. I was disconcerted, so she looked it up for me and for the past week it is there in my memory banks. At the bird store a few days ago, I was telling a story about seeing a hawk come right up to the porch where I was standing, while I was outside. I said, "it landed on the..." What? She looked at me and I had a complete blank, and I said, "you know, the thing that keeps you from falling off the porch." "You mean the railing?" Yes! Of course, the railing. Another uncomfortable moment, which passed, and I have THAT word right on the tip of my tongue now. But where was it at the time? What is happening to my prized possession, my memory?

Years ago I was worried about the fact that I was forgetting things, and when I went to my regular doctor for a checkup, I mentioned my concern to her. She ended up giving me a test. When I read the novel about early-onset Alzheimer's, "Still Alice," I wrote a post about recognizing the test she gave me as being the same one that Alice was given that confirmed her diagnosis. Although I made a few mistakes, I was reassured that the memory loss I was experiencing was normal.

It does seem progressive, however. What causes those little brain farts that come increasingly more frequently? Do you have them, too? I know that I am doing all the right things to keep myself from becoming more disabled by memory lapses than I already am, but it is so worrisome that I'll ask my new doctor if he will give me the test and let me know if I'm okay or not. What do you do if you find out you have developed a "condition"? Sigh. I hope I don't find out. In the meantime, I'll continue to exercise both my body AND my mind.

On another matter, tomorrow I'll be watching the Oscars and hoping my favorites will win at least a few awards. I'll go to bed having been saturated with beautiful gowns and jewels, and hopefully won't be too awfully bored. Sometimes I just wait until the next day so I am not tied down by three hours of rather dull reality TV. Bet some of YOU will be watching, too.
:-)

Facing the inevitable

I'm on the last chapter of a book I've enjoyed a great deal: If I Live to be 100, published in 2002 by Neenah Ellis. She was formerly a staff producer for National Public Radio's All Things Considered and is now a freelance reporter and producer. The link above will take you to a short description of the book and of each of the centenarians she interviewed.

 In 1997, Neenah got a grant from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting to do a radio series about the twentieth century. She decided to talk to centenarians and ask them about their lives, which would encompass the entire century. In 2000, she did a series on NPR's Morning Edition based on these interviews. And then she wrote the book for those of us who missed the radio show. Most of the people in the book lived alone or in assisted living, but all of the ones she interviewed, even one at the age of 117, are all "there" upstairs. I think now, in 2010, I can assume that all of them (okay, most) have moved on.

I don't know about you, but one of the scariest parts of facing old age is this: dementia, Alzheimer's, the loss of cognitive ability. I already feel this at 67. Forgetting names, having a word on the tip of my tongue but not being able to access it, these little annoyances are now part of my everyday existence. But these centenarians give me hope that a long life does not necessarily equate with madness.

I remember long ago hearing a quote from George Orwell: "At age 50, every man has the face he deserves." Well, what about at 100? If you live that long with all your faculties, your face, man or woman, has a sameness about it. Of course there are wrinkles and no teeth (or a whole lot fewer teeth), because I don't think the human body is designed to last much longer than 80, or (at most) 90 years, but gender differences seem also to have moved into the past.

In reading the book, one thing kept jumping out at me: how every single one of these centenarians has learned to live for the moment, and most of them are truly happy individuals, even with all the physical ills they deal with. Two of these centenarians are married to each other, Sadie and Gilbert Hill. A quote from the book (p. 103):

The researchers at the New England Centenarian Study say the odds of a married couple both making it to one hundred are six million to one. Sadie and Gilbert are maddeningly nonchalant about their incredible feat. "It just kind of caught us standing still," says Gilbert.

They live alone, do all their cooking and shopping together. Neither of my parents made it out of their sixties. I guess it's true that picking your parents is the best way to ensure a long life. Until I read this book, I was just not sure I even wanted to live that long. So for now, I'll try to eat right, keep exercising, and hope for the best. Will I still be blogging at 100?
:-)