Aging

    I read an article about aging recently that pointed out that most individuals don’t take on new personality traits as they age.  Rather, aging tends to exaggerate traits that have always been present.  For example, a sweet tempered person doesn’t usually become grouchy.  It’s the person who always was a bit of a complainer who becomes downright crotchety.

    This phenomena was very apparent in my parents.  Dad, who was always frugal, became extremely parsimonious as he aged.  Late in life he discovered the Goodwill store, and from then on, it was his favorite place to shop.  My mother, who had always been a fashionista, albeit on Dad’s frugal budget, and who was by that time disabled by Parkinson’s and by debilitating eye problems, ended up wearing clothes that Dad lovingly picked out with an unerring eye for what was the least flattering!  Dealing with cataracts himself, the new clothes that Dad picked out for himself usually had stains or spots he didn’t see.  If pants didn’t fit, rather than spend money on tailoring, Dad just hemmed them up with staples!  At Christmas Dad’s grandchildren learned to express their gratitude with a straight face for the bags he put together every year, filled with Goodwill treasures he’d collected for months.  Dad also loved to shop for bargains at the grocery store, particularly at the meat counter.  Jeanne was the frequent recipient of steaks sold for half price after their expiration date.  Eating a dinner that Dad cooked always felt like a bit of a gamble.  Dad, however, was always the most loving and sweet tempered of men, and, even after a debilitating stroke, he remained cheerful, loving, and happy.

    Mom was always a bit of a worrier, and this trait magnified as she aged.  Where once she worried but also delighted in new experiences and opportunities, as she aged, she began to only see hazards.  No, Alex shouldn’t go off to Yale, it was too far, too big.  No, Leslie shouldn’t study in Rome or Paris for the summer, she didn’t speak the language, she might get lost.  Mom’s propensity for worrying eventually led to the family’s withholding information from her to spare her distress, but it also separated and isolated her.

    As aging begins to hit home as something that is happening, not just to other people, but to Jim and me, it’s a bit disconcerting to think about what traits we have that may become exaggerated.  Unfortunately, this phenomena is not something that we have any control over.  We can’t pick what parts of ourselves we’d like to enhance!  Nor can our children--and I’m sure that they’re concerned!

    Jim, already a man of few words, will probably become even more terse.  However, his hobby of photography will probably become even more annoying now that he has grandchildren to take pictures of.  And there is the possibility, if unchecked, that he could end up one of those pathetic old men who end their days in a house filled from top to bottom with clutter.  Not a pretty thought!

    I will probably end my days lazing on the couch, reading ever trashier novels, in a house filled to overflowing with mermaids and Marlene paintings.  The voice inside my head that occasionally says “Enough, ellen, stop nagging,” will be permanently silenced, and I will spend my declining years critiquing everything from my children’s spouses to their wardrobes and their hairstyles.  And I will probably sing a lot!