To me, that used to be the catchphrase for a popular Kellogg’s breakfast cereal, but now it’s just the various sounds my body makes with ever increasing frequency. It only became an issue when we went to visit our daughter Amanda in Tampa a few months ago. We decided to go check out the brand new Salvador Dali museum in nearby St. Pete’s, which at the time had only been opened a short time.
It was absolutely state of the art (pun intended) and stocked with hundreds of his best works in a fantastic Dali-esque setting. As we walked through the rooms it was almost church-like quiet as admirers viewed and absorbed his work.
That was as it should be in a museum, except for an annoying, incessant click clacking sound that kept being heard as we walked from room to room. It seemed to be bothering more and more of the assembled patrons as they searched for the offending noise probably so they could ‘shush’ it. I alone knew that the noise in question was coming from my joints, specifically my knees, but rather than apologize for my legs that I’m still rather figuratively and literally attached to I started to look around as well and added a scowl or two to my facial expressions as if I’d personally like to get the decibel offender myself and teach him a thing or two.
Problem is, in my head I’m still the same young whippersnapper able to close up a bar as the sunlight came up and then show up for work an hour later all bright eyed and bushytailed. However, the never failing laws of nature tell my body otherwise and incidents like that one in Florida prove it.
I can’t even write that above paragraph without laughing to myself how things have really changed. “Close a bar” – ha! I’m lucky if I make it to the evening news without nodding off. “Sunlight came up” – now I have an almost vampire in reverse primeval need to hunker down and snuggle shortly after the sun sets; and I only pass for a semblance of “bright eyed and bushy tailed” after a minimum of three cups of very strong coffee in quick succession.
Yup, even though I’m on the very tail young end of a generation that calls itself the “baby boomers” I have reached that stage where there is no denying that some parts need repairing or helping and others need close monitoring and preventive measures if I plan on sticking around for a while.
Oh, don’t be stocking up on get-well or worse yet, sympathy cards, for me. I’m hanging in there. I’m still doing a fair share of exercising, trying to eat right and hoping to keep the stress level down. Now if real life would only cooperate.
My adult kids look at their parents’ current maladies and medical histories (which also include our parents’ histories) and they practically start pre-planning their own funerals. Though I acknowledge that their grandparents dealt with some tough issues, I point out that their generation grew up (as odd as this sounds to today’s reader) not aware that cigarette smoking, too much red meat, sugar or salt and other stuff like that would cause havoc with their health in later years.
Then I tell them that my generation seemingly did get the memo on some of the bad stuff that we should not partake in, avoid altogether or at least do in moderation. I totally acknowledge the heredity and gene factors, but when I look at the handful of oral meds that I pop into my mouth in the morning and evening I can at least say that some of the chemicals are of a preventive nature and not trying to adjust or right something already amiss in my body.
I finish my lecture with the unscientific observation that their generation should reach 100 without breaking a sweat. With both prior knowledge of what should be taboo and the technology and medicine to intervene early and get right to the problem, they are way ahead of the curve.
In the meantime, I’ll just have to get up and do my walking even when I’d rather catch another few minutes of shuteye and push away that piece of cake and forego the salt.
Oh, and if anybody knows of a good sound muffler for my knee joints could you give me a call? I really like going to museums.