Remembering the date

My parents were married on August 10, 1944; they celebrated 53 anniversaries before my Dad died early in 1998. Ransom’s dad and step-mom just celebrated their 45^th anniversary on January 21. As for us, we mark April 8 as the day I moved to New York; October 5 as our wedding; January 3, the date of our Civil Union ceremony, and June 20, our legal wedding.

I  note other events annually: January 10, the day my first boyfriend and I started out – and years later, the day my friend Malette’s son, and my Dad, died; Jan 19 the was when Jan Palach died; March 27, when I reported to Chicago to begin VISTA training; May 4, the shootings at Kent State; June 14, the day we sailed away from Japan; November 21 when my mom passed away. And of course there are lots of birthdays that populate my calendar, from Ransom’s (October 25) to mine (September 19) to my oldest friend’s Don’s (September 11) to the birthdates of the five dogs buried on our property and the three still romping though it.

Now, today, I have another anniversary to mark, if not quite celebrate. A year ago today I had my right knee replaced.

It’s been a very tough year and things are still not right. The knee still collects fluid, still hurts and is still swollen. Perhaps when this day rolls around next year I’ll have better news, but we’re not there yet.

I’m sixty-three years old and suffering from many of the maladies that overfed, under-exercised Americans experience. Over the last two days I gave seventeen (17!) vials of blood to the lab at Yale Health to try to sort out some things. I also had x-rays taken of my left hand and left foot, looking for arthritis. I have an upcoming appointment with a hematologist and another with a rheumatologist. I take drugs for diabetes, high blood pressure and high cholesterol. I walk much slower than I used to, sleep worse that I used to, have sex less often than I used to and ache whenever I walk, work or play too hard. Even going into New York for an evening event – something I used to do at the drop of a hat – takes a day from which to recover.

My mom often said to me: “Don’t get old.” She never told me how though. I’ve drunk both Pepsi (“for those who think young:)” and Coke (“for people on the go”) but I still ache and moan.

Mentally, I still feel young – okay, make that youngish. I still crank the Stones or the Who and sing along. I stay in touch with developments in the worlds of classical music, opera, theatre and film. I may go to New York less, but I still go more than most people I know. I walk three dogs everyday, often several times a day. (I clean up puppy poop most days too!)

So it’s a balancing act. I try to believe that if I think good, I feel good. Works some days; others, not so much.

Today, we’ll see; it’s early yet.