But now the days are short
I’m in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life as vintage wine
From fine old kegs.
-Frank Sinatra, “It was a Very Good Year”
Now, in my seventh decade, I’ve experienced a drastic change — both physically and mentally. Funny thing is that I’m usually the last to know it. My wife knew years before I got hearing aids that I needed them.
One Sunday, my wife and I went to our five-year-old grandson’s soccer game. Sitting comfortably in a chair was his sister, our three-year-old granddaughter, eating a fruit roll-up.
Isn’t it nice not to have a mortgage? I said to her, “Please get up. You can sit on Zayde’s lap.”
She gave me the exact look you might get if you asked someone on the New York City subway to get up and sit on your lap.
My son said to her, “Let Zayde sit down. He’s old and can’t stand too long.” I knew he was joking, but I still barked back, “I just walked on my treadmill at a 10-degree incline at 3 mph for 30 minutes.” He ignored me.
You know you’re old when you see a 14-year-old on a skateboard and think, “If they’re not careful, they might break a hip.”
At shul recently, I asked a friend in his early 90s how he was doing. He said, “I’m here. You know, Mark, they keep moving the goalposts, so I make the best of it.” It wasn’t too long ago that I saw him bouncing around on his own, but now he uses a walker.
The older, feisty folks — and I know many of them — who fight to remain independent are often the ones who seem to do the best. They’re the ones who pull their arm away when you politely try to help them.
Then there are the folks who live to 100 and do nothing but eat ice cream and watch TV. I hate those people.
During a recent physical therapy session, my trainer asked me to stand on one foot, then the other, for 30 seconds each. If you watched me, you’d think I was drunk walking a tightrope. There was a time when I could hop an entire NYC block on one foot. My fantasies of beating the hell out of a mugger are long gone.
My mother used to say to me, “Where are you always running to?” My wife now says, “Why are you walking so slowly?” I envy the young people who run by like young gazelles. A few times, unbeknownst to them, I’ve taken off after them and within seconds, I was left choking behind in the dust.
I used to pop out of bed like a Jack-in-the-box. Now I want to lie there. I creakily stand, then hobble off to the bathroom, hoping everything still flows the way it’s supposed to. My wife once yelled to me in the bathroom, “Is the sink dripping?” Oy Vey. FYI: never stand behind me at a urinal—you’ll miss the first act of the play.
I recently told my wife we should put a safety bar in the shower — not because we need one yet, but in case we slip. Young people don’t need a bar; they grab hold of the person with them — ah, the good old days when a shower was not just a shower but glorious entertainment.
My friend George Stanley, who passed a few weeks short of 100, used to say, “Everything changes and everything ends.” Not a pleasant thought, but undoubtedly true.
These days I try extra hard not to hurt myself, because I know how long it takes to heal — if, in fact, I’m going to heal at all. My index finger on my right hand has been hurting for months. Every time I think it’s better, it starts to hurt again. Age brings an awareness that we are fragile.
Something that has helped the aging process is cultivating an attitude of gratitude for my life and all that I have been given. I know with all my heart that I have been overpaid. I know how deeply my family loves me. I hope that when I pass, they know how deeply I loved them. If so, my life has been a success.
Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer, and hosts, along with Danny Lobell, the “We Think It’s Funny” podcast. His new book is “Why Not? Lessons on Comedy, Courage and Chutzpah.”
