Getting Old

I know. I'm 24, going on 28. I am not a very old person. But I guess since the failed attempt at my second marathon and my realization that my knees would never let me make a third attempt, I've been on this kick to enjoy certain things now, before I can no longer do them.

When I was a teen and I was sure that it was migraines I was getting and not just headaches, I thought about my mom saying that chocolate became a trigger for her when she was in her mid-twenties. I realized this would probably be the same for me, and I therefore made a point of enjoying chocolate while I could still eat it. And I did. Now I just enjoy the smell of it. Boy, does it smell good.

Anyway, I work with a bunch of seventy and eighty-somethings. And tougher people you will not find. These ladies, eighty-three years old, unload the truck, move boxes around, come in every week to help us get the food ready and out to the people. Socorro's been sick a lot this year, she said she's not sure she'll make it to next year, and it doesn't seem to bother her that much. I try to imagine a time in my life when I really feel that way, when I don't have to remind myself not to be afraid of death. When it really is just okay with me.

Among other things, the older volunteers may have trouble (or may have lost the ability) bending their knees, raising their arms up above their heads, walking fast, turning at the waist, or doing any detailed work with their hands.

So I pay attention to these things I can still do. I make a point to move my body everyday in ways that I can. I rotate my shoulders and stand on my tip toes. I squat and kneel and pick my foot up in my hand and hold it at my waist. I hip-check my roommates when we're playing around and... and...

Well, here's the thing. I started sewing a skirt over the weekend. I could use a skirt, and it looks like it'll be pretty, but even more than that, I needed a project. I needed something relaxing and monotonous to do. Michelle was laughing at me for making a skirt that I'm not entirely sure will fit me. I didn't use a pattern, I just used Emily's skirt as a kind of guide. Michelle said, "You're hand-sewing all that? You can use my sewing machine."

I said, no, I don't want it to go fast, and I don't want it to be results-oriented. This is a project for the sake of a project. I want to hand-sew it. I want to figure out if I can make it fit me, and if so how. I just want to take some time with it and see what happens. It's nice to focus on something right now that's separate from my job, separate from the volunteer program, separate from grad school, separate from the big move.

Here's how it ties in to getting old. I've hand-sewn clothes before. And sometimes my hands will cramp a bit, but yesterday? Yesterday. Yesterday, at age almost-28, I had to rest my hand every 20 or so minutes because it would get to where I couldn't hold the fabric between my fingers. After a time, I could no longer press my index and middle finger together to hold the fabric in between. I could put them next to each other, but was unable to add pressure to that mix. And if I ignored it and didn't let my hand rest, I wouldn't even be able to put my fingers next to each other.

It was a wholly new sensation. And I thought, wow, this kind of thing must be really frustrating for people with arthritis.

So today, I'm enjoying the use of my hands. Hands are awesome. I love the way fingers work. Three cheers for hands!

Yeah.