THE JOY OF BEING A WOMAN IN HER EIGHTIES

A recent article by psychologist Mary Pipher (“The Joy of Being a Woman in Her Seventies,” The New York Times 1-12-19) extolled the happier aspects of being a septuagenarian. I agreed with her in general. Certainly the seventies are a time when women have weathered many storms successfully and reached some goals. For me, my seventies were rewarding years of travel, writing, and (for a time) living off the electrical grid in a forested area of northern California. It was a life I never could have imagined when I was younger.

As that decade wore on, though, my health declined and I became unable to continue some activities. Now that I am 81, I sometimes feel sad about some necessary changes in my lifestyle. (Does anyone use that word any more?) I can walk for only short distances, and use a cane. I need my electric blanket and microwave oven. I can’t drive after dark. I don’t try to write about biology, because too much has changed in that field in recent years.

It’s tempting to feel some self-pity about these differences in my life, but there’s no point in doing so. Also, there are many positive aspects of being an octogenarian:

·       I stopped dieting several years ago, and eat for health rather than weight control.

·       My wardrobe consists mainly of tees, sweaters, and pants from Lands’ End® and other reasonably priced stores, worn with sensible shoes.

·       There’s no pressure to keep up with the times unless I want to.

·       Remembering stupid or thoughtless deeds of my own, I’m quite tolerant of other people’s.

·       Realizing that I may not live too many more years, and that some old friends and enemies are dying or very ill, I find it easy to drop old grudges.

·       Sleeping nine hours is a necessity for me, and I don’t feel guilty about sleeping in.

·       It’s a joy to connect with old friends in person or on the Internet.

·       I’m finally reading or rereading books that have sat on the shelf for years. As my memory declines, I can even reread mysteries without remembering “whodunit.”

·       Not wanting to waste much of my remaining time on housework or yardwork, I have hired help with it, just as I did when working and caregiving.

·       Luckily, I can still do some traveling in the RV. Unlike most forms of travel, it provides the comforts an octogenarian needs.

CAMPGROUND TOILETS

You know it’s really cold when the vault toilet blows frigid air up through the seat onto your rear end! We awoke one day in Joshua Tree National Park to see a quarter inch of snow on the ground and to hear a cold wind blowing. Because we postpone adding anything to the blackwater  tank as long as possible, we dashed across the way to use the campground toilet instead. It was not a pleasant experience.

The range of toilets in primitive campgrounds is amazing. In Canada we once found a simple pit toilet that had whitewashed walls and a bouquet of fresh flowers in a vase on the shelf. Then there are the horrendous ones I don’t need to describe. Conditions depend mainly on the campers rather than on campground owners; only an ignorant person or slob steals toilet paper or leaves it on the floor, fails to clean up any messes, tosses trash in the toilet, or leaves the lid up on a vault toilet.

Because the conditions are unpredictable, I always prepare for the worst. I take along some toilet paper and a soapy washcloth or hand sanitizer to clean my hands. (It would be nice to take bleach and paper towels, too, but that would raise hob with the decomposition.)

Of course, a lot of these problems can be avoided by going to an expensive RV resort that has bathrooms with real plumbing, but usually we prefer cheaper, less formal places—even if it means taking a chance on the toilets. Besides, you haven’t lived until you have had your butt frozen!