I try to enjoy the age I’m in. Why bemoan your lost youth and your lost looks?
“How is your golf game?” I asked a grandparent in Maine who navigated down a dirt driveway with a cane.
“O heavens, no more golf for us,” he said cheerfully. “Every year we give up something.”
I liked his attitude. No regrets at losing the firm step. The upright body—a tree trunk with no knots. The unlined face—a branch with no rings to mark its age.
But one surprising joy in my elder years has been cataract surgery. Before I agreed to it I had become legally blind in my right eye. Unable to read street signs, I knew that my driving days were limited.
But after the surgery, I felt no pain. I wore a patch on my eye overnight, The next morning we drove to the surgeon’s office.
He removed the patch. Voila! How brilliant the colors. How blinding the whites! I had never realized what a gray tinge the color white had developed over the years. Such clarity opened my eyes even wider..
With only one shock. When I looked in the mirror I got to see what I actually looked like.