A Defining Moment

As Donna Leon, prolific author of the Detective Brunetti series, writes in her recent memoir, Wandering Through Life:

“I knelt down to pick up a hose lying on the floor of the barn and suddenly lacked the strength to push myself back to my feet. I couldn’t have been more stunned if I’d been struck by lightning. For years, I’d easily picked it up and carried it out to the garden. But now it was too hard to me to lift! In that instant, I realized I’d become an old person. The hose had not grown longer, nor had it gained weight during the winter. I was the one who had changed.”

That’s exactly how I felt when I suddenly realized I had to give up what had become a daily source of enjoyment, my martini. The martini hadn’t changed; I had. I had become a “person of a certain age,” and my body that could no longer tolerate what it once had so effortlessly enjoyed.

I tried not to take the symptoms seriously—the light-headedness, the queasiness, the loose bowels, and the occasional fall. I kept telling myself that I was in good health: I exercised, ate well, and slept soundly. Sure, I had white hair, wrinkles on my face, blue veins on my hands, and creases on my inner thighs, but I accepted them with equanimity. That’s what happened to everyone at a certain age. But as my family doctor kindly reminded me: “Sure, you look good for your age, but you’re 84, not 18.”

So I finally forced myself to face the truth. I was no longer getting old; I was old, at least in years, if not spirit. I could no longer look away and pretend what was happening wasn’thappening. Just as I can no longer look in the mirror and say to myself, “Lookin’ good.” Now, if I wear the right clothes, stand up straight, pull in my tummy, put my hands on my hips, and tilt my head to the side, the best I can muster is, “It’ll have to do.”

Donna Leon concludes her memoir by saying, “As we approach the other end of life, there are no laws to protect us from our own reckless choices. None—that I know of—to make those of us of a certain age stop driving, overeating or over-drinking. We’re on our own.”

            I am trying my best to do without, to limit myself to a drink only when I’m dining out. I’m not a lover of sweets but now, every afternoon at 4:00ish, I have a “simple sweet.” It could be a couple of oatmeal cookies, some rice pudding, or my all-time favorite snack of peanut butter and jelly on Saltines—but I forego any of the crackers, cheeses and dips that I would ordinarily have with alcohol. Much to my delight, that seems to be working: no more dizziness, stomach problems, tripping or falling. And I sleep even better than before.

            I’m not saying I like giving up my daily martinis—I’ve enjoyed them too much for too long—but the time has come to face the facts, and I feel much better for doing it. Last week, at dinner with friends, I imbibed; it tasted g-r-e-a-t. At home, I’m behaving myself. But I hope the time never comes when I have to give up peanut butter and jelly!