by Jackie King
Being a woman of a certain age has its advantages, especially for
a writer. Looking back on my life, each decade seems to be a series of stories filed
in my head and ready to be played when needed. It’s convenient to think back to
age ten or age 16 or age 33 and remember how I thought and felt and acted at that time. And
of course, I use this history to form my characters and bring them to life.
The entire country is obsessed with staying young. This energy, in
my opinion, could be put to better use. Improving and enjoying your situation
whatever age you may be, being foremost.
“Old Age Ain’t No Place for
Sissies,” said Bette
Davis. Years ago, when I first read this quote, I laughed. Everyone does, I
expect. I was much younger then and was very fond of older folks, but seldom
considered that I might one day become one. (Here I smile and sigh.)
Recently, and all of a sudden, it occurred to me that I myself had
grown old. Not overnight, of course, although it seems as if life passed very
quickly. Advanced maturity creeps up on us. All of my life I’ve had friends of
all ages and liked it that way, never giving thought to anyone’s age except in
character developing.
After the initial shock of admitting the truth of this revelation,
I decided that maybe it wasn’t so bad. Young men step up to open doors for me; I
can get by with saying most anything, and can dress as eccentric as I wish. (Sometimes
it’s convenient to wear your jammies to the grocery store.) Lots of perks for
us old ladies. (Cats and old ladies do as they please. I hear.)
When we start falling apart it’s inconvenient to take time out for
repairs. Years earlier, things started to deteriorate, and at the time I didn’t
even notice. I just used this firsthand information in fleshing out people in
my stories.
In my mid-forties my arms grew too short and I was forced to buy
glasses. Not even Dorothy Parker’s words, “Boys don’t make passes at girls who
wear glasses,” bothered me. Dorothy was just plain wrong. I had lots of friends
who wore glasses and received plenty of passes. (This was in the days before
everyone wore contract.
Bifocals were a pain and then a few years later my hearing started
to go. I knew this because my snarky husband (now Ex) kept making an issue
about it.
“Huh?” I’d say when he mumbled something at me. Then he would yell
the sentence at the top of his lungs, probably damaging what hearing I had
left.
So I had a stapedectomy which was supposed to improve my middle
ear. The procedure didn’t work, so I had another, which worked for a while. But
finally, when technology improved, I bought a hearing aid.
The wonderful thing is, for a writer, each experience, regardless
of how painful or embarrassing or ridiculous it may be, can be used as grist
for our writing mill.
In the next few posts, I’m going to talk of some of the
degeneration that happens in aging, and how I may use each experience into a
story.
I’d love to hear your opinion about the world’s fixation with
staying young. Let me know if you’re comfortable with your age wherever you are
in life’s journey.
Cheers,
Jackie
