Slipping, Sputtering and Aging

Our mental gearing sputters and slips as we age. Things get muddled. A skinny old lady I know confuses the words genealogist and gynecologist. Granted they’re similar---one looks up your history and one looks up your...

A long life history gets condensed. “It’s from that great little store in the mall,” my 88-year-old Mother in law says.  “We used to pop in there all the time!”  She hands me the battery charger and has me read the product logo---Radio Shack. I inform her that Radio Shack has gone the way of the dinosaur.  Age old events merge with events from last week.

Time-lines shrink so there is only what was and what is---and they connect. A vacation taken thirty years ago is recounted like it was last week. Last week’s adventures have dropped off the time-line altogether. Whatever grey matter tethers time to memory dissipates.  The belts slip maybe or connections misfire.

RAM is disrupted. Roughly 40 per cent of people over the age of 65 experience some form of memory loss. Oddly enough professionals say this isn’t an issue unless you don’t think it’s an issue.  Being cognizant of loss is good. 

“Unfortunately, in most cases, there are no obvious signs a timing belt is near death; it will just break.” For cars you replace the belt before it blows.  We just fray. Experts say routine helps.  An investment in life helps. Both body and brain strengthening exercises.  Then the last seconds; power doesn’t come, engine seizes, body stops with a jar as hitting a wall. Cam, crankshaft collapse. “Furthermore, men are afraid of a high place and terrors on the road…For man goes to his eternal home while mourners go about in the street.”

The Cabinet Keeper

The stubble on his face was razor sharp.  Not his memory.  That was growing soft---not growing really but diminishing. He couldn’t remember what he didn’t remember. Wasn’t sure that what he recalled was ten years ago or ten minutes. Frustrating. He didn’t mean to lash out in anger. Irritation comes as he tries to tether to the old memories and connect with the new.  The rope keeps unraveling before he can tie it all together. Hair and memory both graying out.

 My sister and I have shared the same moments…and we have different memories.  I can access complete experiences if I see a picture. Blocks of my childhood are absent along with chunks through my twenties.  A snapshot or a story will open those files—sometimes. Raising my daughter; full soundtracks and photos filling my personal memory cloud. My brain has archived trillions of tidbits; rock and roll lyrics, Monty Python skits, facts about writers; quotes and quirks—all easily accessed.

Memories are stored in the brain in multiple file cabinets; back of brain, front of brain.  Current events we toss into the back brain cabinet (hippocampus). After a while we give it a manila folder. Every ten years the files are shuttled to front brain storage (frontal cortex). Simple.  Unless there’s a disruption. There’s always a disruption. Current memory must be reinforced; the little file cabinet guy must scribble onto that folder. The folder properly placed in context. To retrieve it the incoming query must be clearly understood; “Okay, brain, find me the actors in eighties movie files.” Over time the little file cabinet keeper gets tired and just throws those memories into a box.

It came time to move him to smaller quarters, the movers were oblivious, the children miffed and mystified. The ‘new’ boxes in den and kitchen were filled with Hammacher Schlemmer catalogs, Hollywood Bowl librettos, miscellaneous mail along with important letters from the IRS, postcards from friends abroad and medical bills. The boxes in the backrooms were neatly organized; photos of grandchildren and family, notes from mom, lists of knick-knacks, tools and finances to be distributed ‘when the time comes.’ Temporary amusements and current finances not held tightly; not filed rightly.  Kinships and clan, close connected friends and things done by hand---these the keeper stores in the strong room.

Seasons Mundane and Seasons Exuberant

Remember your Creator in the days of your youth,
before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say,
 “I find no pleasure in them”—

An alpine climber leading summits of Aconcagua and Everest; a couple visiting each National park while living out of their RV; a witty, well published, motivational speaker; and a handful of professional photographers regularly appear on my Instagram feed. This morning I hit the snooze button twice and poured myself two cups of coffee before my morning reading and writing time.  I’ll write words for soul satisfaction only then head off to work that I do for the paycheck….’a time to throw stones and a time to gather stones.’

Autumn’s season sneaks up on her. My 85-year-old mother in law’s mind and muscle don’t respond as quickly as they once did.  Things that were once crisp and clean go hazy.  Eager exploration gives way to tiredness, frustration and afternoon nap. Entropy relentlessly pursues. Staying in bed is easier. TV easier. Decline is gradual.

Life has its’ seasons.  I’ve canoed the Colorado and submitted Whitney. A summer spent working with teens in inner-city Chicago.  Countless road-trips; sleeping under lightning sky and seeing countless shale streaked wildernesses by car.  I’ve quit taco-selling jobs after three weeks; had Summer jobs and jobs to make ends-meet. I expect all seasons to be like those seasons of exuberant exploration.

As axial tilt brings Earth closer to the sun; the choices we make and outside forces spin us throughout the year. We bend toward old age; bodies give in to gravity. This spring will be a different Spring than when I was Thirty. The tension remains. To find pleasure; and so there is a seeking.  To find contentment; and so there is a letting go.