These aren’t complaints, just observations. If you’re old, they can help, and if you’re young, they can both inform you about what it means to be old* and give you a glimpse of your future…if you’re lucky.

Months ago, I recommended Dollar Store reading glasses strategically** placed all over the house and your car so you’d always have a pair at hand. My personal record is 10 pair. Of note, they are now $1.25 apiece. Damn you, Biden***. The Dollar Store has not changed their name, by the way.  They ought to. As a new hint, do the same with magnifying glasses. Not sure what they cost, now, but most corporations are run by perfectly sighted young people who seem intent on making important product information on labels as small as possible. A recent bout with a room air freshener concerned small black type over a dark red background. It was so hard to read I needed my Jewelers’ Loupe. Look it up, they are invaluable but won’t be found in the Dollar Store. Also, you won’t need 10 of them, two or three will do unless you do a lot of package content reading in the bathroom. And you certainly won’t need one while you’re driving.

To all of us, stop trying to tell everyone else about how bad our life is. I’ve noticed a disturbing trait, lately, among us old people: Condition Competition. As a veteran of malady management, myself, it’s hard to not want everyone to know how well you did, if you did well, and how bad you’re doing if you didn’t. Since young people never listen to us, we seem to be using each other for these reports. And as we solemnly detail our struggles, it hurts to hear back from the listener a litany of troubles worse than our own. Trust me. As I recently began regaling a conversational partner about winning skirmishes against cancer, AMD, and arthritis, he countered with a double-lung transplant at age 18, followed by the loss of both parents in an accident a year later. Well played, sir. My options were to lie or retreat to complain another day, and hope for someone less well-off. Remember, seniors: sonder.****

The Loss of Things is a never-ending affliction which can be managed if one remembers it is the natural way of life. I’ve been fortunate to lose things slowly and incrementally, the best way to lose them since you never really know they are gone until you sit down and write about it. See? This is healthy, right? Vision is the obvious thing to illustrate this phenomenon. As noted in the first paragraph, my vision is slowly and incrementally (SI) fading into the sunset. It’s hard to imagine going blind in one fell, swoop, so thank your lucky stars if SI is the way your best traits go. SI effects everything: hair, libido, athletic ability, mental acuity.  Everything except toenails. Note to young entrepreneurs: invent a way to stop toenails from growing or a liquid that makes them fall off. A liquid preferably applied with a long stick.

Always look for flat, level, ground. This is a hard one, especially with bad vision, but no fall is worse than the one you do in public simply because a small incline or decline suddenly appeared under your feet. Sad to admit it, but “Training Wheels” for seniors might not be a bad idea, if we could get seniors to admit–and commit– to using them. So far, my only concession to a sudden change in position is a google watch with a built-in fall sensor. If I drop and can respond in 15 seconds, there’s still a chance to regain some dignity. If I don’t answer in 15 seconds, it calls 911 and all bets are off. This is also helpful if you live alone and die. My apartment property maintenance man said this when asked how he would know if someone was dead in my beautiful but one bedroom apartment: “It would smell. Eventually.”

Maybe seniors shouldn’t buy any more air fresheners.

And make sure your google watches are fully charged.

            *Be nice to your Grandparents!

            **As opposed to haphazardly placed. Or willy-nilly placed

            ***And Trump, and Musk, and Bezos, and everyone else responsible.

            ****Ai it.