Year upon year warm and sunny transition to cool and overcast. I too, am fading and recognize the onset of the autumn of my time. If age is a state of mind, then the mirror is a reality check. My eyelashes once brushed my glasses like mini windshield wipers—no mascara required. Now I need the glasses to see the remaining lashes. My hair is still thick but approximating the original brunette shade involves a Ben Franklin and several boring hours in the salon every month. Did I not come with a colorfast label?
The complexion requires bottled moisture to diminish wrinkles (or so the container promises). Hand lotion soaks in like water on a parched houseplant. The effects of all this replenishment last until the next sunset when reapplication is part and parcel of heading to bed. CeraVe translates to happiness and joy, so I continue the nightly ritual.
Joints take turns being cranky and high heels wait under a layer of dust on my closet shelf. I accept some drooping and spreading and I’m okay with senior discounts. What bothers me is any slower thinking and cloudy recall. Maybe I’m guilty of Chittister’s claim that we ‘make peace with tepidity’ or maybe I believe the line in the Tao Te Ching text that warns: ‘keep sharpening your knife and it will blunt.’
I have always been aware (perhaps too aware) of the passage of time, but there are certain times, like this year, when it just sneaks up and yells Boo! Observing my new very bright daughter-in-law, 37 years my junior---and truly a natural beauty-- makes the realization stark. I am thrilled for my son; and wish them all the joy that comes with love and youth. I observe from the recliner that she looks comfortable sitting on our floor, choosing it over upholstered options. The last time I tried that, I was too young to vote. I learn from her and if she does not have an answer, she accesses one within seconds. The research librarian in me appreciates that. I do worry that I will become less relevant and advice I share considered cliché and outdated. I stay engaged in the conversation using context clues to grasp jargon like slack calls and the myriad of acronyms common to the medical community. Sometimes I just ask her. Once when I saw her struggling with scissors to take stitches out of a piece of delicate fabric, I got out a seam ripper and suggested she try it.
“How did you know what that is?” she asked.
It’s not much, but I’ll take it.
Albert Camus said, “Autumn is the second Spring when every leaf is a flower.”
I may not age gracefully, but I trust that the compilation of my life experience has expanded my heart and mind in a way to continue to contribute, until all the leaves, each silvery one glistening with gratitude, drop.
Lilly Kauffman is a non-fiction writer who was privileged to work as both librarian and a teacher. Her essays, whether serious or humorous, capture the experiences that allow us to laugh and grieve. Family and faith inform her writings. She is currently working on several book projects: A Mother Grieves in Ink, Ampersand, and Lil Letters.