ANITA BIRT - SPEAKING OUT

GROWING OLD GRACEFULLY - OR NOT

I have been there and am still there, growing old, I mean. It's not something from which to escape or from pretending it isn't happening. It's the small changes, unnoticed at the time, that gradually creep up and suddenly something that didn't hurt before is hurting now.

Or with me. Two years ago I could walk a couple of miles and not give it a second thought. Now I do a kilometer about once a week and walk about two thirds of the distance most days. It's called, getting old!

Keeping my brain busy writing about this and that, and reading three newspapers daily plus books plus talking with friends about what's going on in the world, out there. We Canadians are blessed to live in a wonderful country where law and order reigns supreme. Except when a young man turns rogue and kills three RCMP officers who  had been lured into his trap by a 911 call.

My son, chatting to a limo driver on his way to the airport reported this conversation.  The driver said he had come from Spain. "Do you know what I like best about Canada?" He asked. "What?" My son asked. "I like the health care and honest cops."

Honest cops. When I was a kid we knew a police man would help us if we were lost or frightened. Years ago I was giving a talk in a high school in an  unfamiliar neighborhood . I lost my way. Up ahead was a road block with police checking for impaired drivers. I stopped. "I'm lost. I don't know this area." He asked my address and told me how to find my way home. A helpful cop.

I'm supposed to be taking about Growing Old Gracefully. It helps to come from a couple of tough old Scots who ignored illness unless it was severe. My mother died in her one hundredth year. My grandmother, 87, my sister, 91, my Aunt Daisy, 88, and here I am ticking along.

I know many women with various kinds of illnesses who remain cheerful. when they can. But if they want to talk about how they feel, take time to LISTEN. Listening is a gift to someone.

GROWING OLD GRACEFULLY - isn't easy if arthritis is playing hell with your feet or back. Or your joints are stiff. (It's aging!) Or your memory is slipping. I have a friend who can't remember people's names so she calls every one, "Sweetie." She is a dear who smiles and stays active.

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