Peeling Salt Off of Pretzels

Meetings with folks my age often begin with conversations we call “the organ recital,” the particular aches and pains of aging. Truth be told, they are not the most scintillating conversations, to put it mildly. Yet of course, we all need to talk about whatever is happening to us at the moment. And in your 70’s and 80’s, that often begins with the physical body’s decline. 

 

Mine is not doing great at the moment. Though I thought I made a little breakthrough with a doctor finally named my off-and-on dizziness and gave me some exercises and a few pills if needed, the truth is neither have helped and the dizziness is much more on than off. Literally two days in the past three weeks where I gave it a seismic reading of 1 or 2 and then 6 or 7 for most of the other days. Then there was the slip on the pebbles while hiking in Indio that tore off way too much skin on my left leg and burned for several days following. Yesterday, I gave a tiny cough at Trader Joe’s and suddenly felt a stabbing pain under my rib that made my move cautiously the rest of the day. 

 

See, I told you this would be boring! The only consolation is my unscientific theory that minor tremors relieve some karmic pressure and help avoid the giant earthquakes. I know it all could be so much worse. But that doesn’t help when my head is spinning and I’m simply not feeling myself. 

 

The good news about writing this rather than telling you over lunch is that you can stop reading at any moment! And in fact, I’m done. I buried myself in a difficult jigsaw puzzle to keep myself occupied these last two days (almost done!), lay down and read and napped during the day, checked out the new Shetland Series at night. 

 

Today I decided to just move forward and get out of the house. Helped teach a guest class at a school, took our car held together with Gorilla Duct Tape to get the needed body work done, walked in the park and played some spontaneous cornhole with a mother and her two sons. I may not feel great, but carrying on “as if” is better than sitting in the corner of the pity party peeling salt off the pretzels. 

 

And there’s my Blog-worthy story. In 7^th grade, my friends started having make-out parties in their basements and at one party, as they paired off, I found that there were no girls left for me. So I grabbed a bunch of pretzels and just sat in the corner picking the salt off one granule at a time. By telling you that little story, I can move this post from self-pity to your pity. Pretty pathetic, huh? And by the way, it didn’t get much better until college. 

 

Friends, take care of yourselves and if you ever see me in the corner peeling salt of the pretzels, feel free to check in and see how I’m doing.