I have that, too.
According to the sleep doctor
at my last appointment, if I were to lose 10 percent of my body weight I would
have an 80 percent chance of saying, “Farewell apnea.” That’s a lot of math,
but I’m working on it. Six percent and counting.
Meanwhile, I sleep tethered
to a CPAP machine on my nightstand. I’m used to
it, but it’s damned inconvenient when traveling – schlepping it, of course –
and the machines are so commonplace (we, the disordered can spot the other CPAP
bags on airport security conveyor belts) that the Transportation Security
Administration seems convinced our machines are the next new thing in hiding explosives. Yes, it is embarrassing when an agent removes the machine from its case and plugs it
in to make sure it works.
Another thing about machine-assisted
slumber is that the CPAP nosepiece straps leave grooves, like furrows in a
field, across my face. I look scary enough in the morning. Now I am groovy as
well.
When I worked I was
self-conscious about my grooves, but the time between awaking, getting ready
for work (remember work attire?), and commuting (often a bike ride across the
National Mall – glorious!) gave time for the moisture cream to kick in and the
cheek furrows to fade. If I drove and my commute was faster, strategically lowered
reading glasses worked as well as any concealer.
As I retiree, I can be a
recluse until the fullness of time returns my cheeks to normal. But, there’s a
big exception, especially with the Carolina springtime when our friends are
becoming like swallows returning to Capistrano.
Which is great. I love all
the swallows arriving from Maryland and Miami and Michigan.
Houseguests are a joy of
retirement. When you work, friendship, if maintained, might be a quick lunch, a
phone call (often while driving, shopping, cooking, or folding laundry), hasty
emails, “likes” on Facebook, or, when you really plan, a night out.
All good. And, all help
maintain vital connections. But, in retirement you have more time and, if
you’re lucky, more energy. You can focus on friends. Best yet, you can host
them. Then you can be with them and
not try to cram all the updates into one exchange. With houseguests, it’s a conversation, not a
quiz.
We’ve got a vegetable garden
now. Just as there was a marriage analogy in assembling our IKEA furniture,
I’m sure there’s an analogy in our garden for friendship, like paying
attention, providing nourishment, and taking time.
It’s more than time with
houseguests. It's recapturing the friendship you had when you were young -- before careers and children and responsibilities. You can play. Really play. With many friends that means word
games. In my life, I have not played as many games of Bananagrams as I did last weekend.
With visiting friends it’s can be almost like being a child again. Games.
Giggles. Gossip.
Except you have some aches and pains and issues and in the morning it's a furrowed hostess who is making the coffee. That’s right. Nowhere to run.
Nowhere to hide. In the bright light of our sunroom, the reading glasses trick
is transparent.
But, it’s okay. Somehow in
retirement I seem to be becoming more of the person I really am and not just
the young one I frequently tried to project to be world. I am old. And, maybe, just
maybe, I am groovy, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment