Fire Star Press: aging

Showing posts with label aging. Show all posts

Friday, February 5, 2021

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

In general, I'm not one to worry about the aging process. No, I'm not crazy about the loose skin on my neck or my slightly saggy jowls but I'm a low-maintenance sort of gal so you won't see me doing Botox or having surgery. As far as the fading color of my hair, many of the women in my family develop beautiful white hair as they age; I hope I will be one of them. True, I may add blue, pink, or purple streaks but that's just a way to express myself. I'm all about color and sparkle.

I'm now 58 years old and so far, I don't have too much to complain about. I've had hypothyroidism for years. I've developed a touch of arthritis in my shoulders along with some rotator cuff issues. However,I have also developed an issue that completely blindsided me: hearing loss.😲 I went in for my annual hearing check not really expecting any changes. Leaving with the recommendation that I begin wearing hearing aids really took me aback. It took me a couple of weeks to come to terms with it. Yes, my daddy was hard of hearing my entire life but he worked on jet engines in the Navy before hearing protection was required. My mama didn't suffer a noticeable hearing loss until she was in her 80s. Somehow, the thought that hearing loss might impact me at this age had never crossed my mind; hearing aids weren't even on my radar for a few more decades.

Now that I've had a couple of months to adjust, I'm okay. Most days I even remember to wear my hearing aids, LOL. I'm also now one of those people dealing with hearing aid batteries, which seem to last a week at the most. I find it amusing that, when the batteries need changing, my hearing aids play the opening bars of Beethoven's Fifth.😂

In true me fashion, my hearing aids are red. Even though no one sees them, knowing that that pop of color is there makes me happy.

Have any parts of the aging process caught you off guard?

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Monday, February 20, 2017

YOU CAN’T GO HOME AGAIN, UNLESS YOU’RE A WRITER. by Mollie Hunt

When I quit my job of 15 years, I vowed to my workplace friends I’d come back to visit. Over a year and I haven’t been back yet.

My parents spent their final days in a lovely assisted living community where they, and I, made many friends. At their funerals, I promised I would see everyone again. I’ve not fulfilled that promise either.

It’s not that I don’t mean it– I do. But life goes on. Things change. Time passes, and nothing is ever the same. Though the phrase, “You can’t go home again”, classically refers to one’s childhood, at 64, I have a whole compendium of things to which I can never return.

Except, I can.

In words and stories, I have visited those rooms of childhood, run through the spring-lit gardens of youth, dropped in and said hello to history, caressed the sounds and scents of days gone long ago. I have dwelt in dreams, righted wrongs, and even taken my share of revenge. (“Never wrong a writer. They get their revenge in print.”)

In Placid River Runs Deep, I went back to my childhood summer place, got to visit with my grandmother, and watch the sun set over the hills once more.

In Broken Roses, I killed the man who abused me.

In L. E. Catts and the Seven of Swords, I courted a bad-boy old flame.

In my cat mysteries, I see a better stronger different version of myself.

Through writing, there is no place I cannot go.

Happy Reading!

Be sure to visit my Website, Crazy Cat Lady Mysteries and More,

and my Facebook Writer’s Page at Mollie Hunt, Writer.

Check out Cat's Paw, my latest Crazy Cat Lady cozy mystery on Amazon.

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Comforting Words

I got my love of reading honestly – it was a gift from my mother. My mother and books are forever intertwined in my memories; I can’t remember a time when mama didn’t have a book with her. As mama aged, her love affair with books continued. Even when it was no longer easy for she and daddy to get to the bookstore or library, mama read. She had a large collection of books and never minded revisiting the friends that she had met among their pages.

I accompanied my parents on many trips to numerous doctors, especially over the last couple of years. As we sat in the many look-alike waiting rooms, mama would fill the time telling me (and anyone else who would listen) about the storylines of her favorite books. Her descriptions were detailed and enthusiastic. It was obvious how much her books – and the characters that inhabited them – meant to her.

Up until a few months ago, my mother read several books a week. However, as so often happens with couples who have been together many years, after my father’s death my mother’s health began to decline – both mentally and physically. It was scary to learn that mama could no longer walk, but not unexpected; her mobility had been severely limited for many years. What little mobility mama had maintained for so long was mostly a sheer act of will and without daddy, she lost that will. It was unnerving to learn that mama had almost stopped eating; daddy did the same thing a couple of months before his death. However, the one change that truly struck terror into my heart was when I learned that mama had stopped reading. Mama not reading was almost the equivalent of her not breathing. At that point, I tried to steal myself for the loss of my mother only a few short months after my father. But, she held on.

Eventually, mama started eating again. (Apparently, I gave her The Look. Had I known that was all it would take, I would have done it sooner.) Once mama began eating a little better, she also bounced back somewhat mentally as well. During one of our phone calls, she was excited to tell me that she was reading again. I breathed a big sigh of relief and lost some of the sensation of impending doom. Shortly after that call, mama was admitted to the hospital and my husband and I made a trip to see her. It was then that I learned that mama’s “reading” consisted mostly of just re-reading the same couple of pages, but it was progress.

During her hospital stay, as I sat by her side, I watched mama pick up her book, “read” for a minute or two and put it back down. This process was repeated many times and I don’t know that she ever turned a page. It was as I watched her sleep, her book open on her chest, that I realized, that it wasn’t just a book – it was a friend. A friend whose presence brought my mama comfort. She finds peace in holding a book and looking at the words it contains, even if she can no longer focus on them or understand them as well as she once did. Mama has been through many changes in the last few months, changes over which she has had no control. She lost the love of her life and then had to leave what had been her home for the last six years. Yet, through all of the changes and loss, mama’s books - her friends - are still with her and their stories haven’t changed.

Mama and her friend.

As a writer, it can be hard not to base what I think of as my level of “success” solely on the number of reviews that my books receive. The fact is, most readers will never leave a review. Out of the hundreds of books that mama has read, I doubt that she has even reviewed one. But, what is more important? The fact that she never left a review or the fact that even now, in the twilight of her life, she holds onto her books. (My sister says that mama takes at least one book with her everywhere, even if they are just going into another room.) Why does she cling to her paperback friends? Because the stories mattered to her. And, when it comes right down to it, isn’t that the best reward that I can have – the honor of writing the stories of my heart in the hopes that someday they might touch someone else?

What stories have touched your heart?

Until next month, happy reading!