APrIl 14 @ 9 anD 10:30aM <strong>Apr</strong>il 19 @ 7pM APrIL 20 @ 5PM anD april 21 @ 9 anD 10:30aM Join us as wE cElebraTe thE sacrifIce anD ReSuRrECTion oF chRisT JESUs! <strong>Mar</strong>/<strong>Apr</strong> <strong>2019</strong> • 8
A Note to Baby Boomers Taking a Stand on Falling for Anything I am not the most healthy guy. Life insurance agents keep their distance. I am decently good, though, at coping with the bad. Doctors would have to moonlight at Walmart if everyone was like me. Not that I ever stop worrying. Blessed with few real crises, I nonetheless fill the void. Don’t sweat the small stuff? I need a shower every hour or two. I collect worries like I used to collect baseball cards. Only some of these worries fall within the bounds of sanity. I worry about drinking more buttermilk, for instance. I am one of the 19 people left on Earth who loves buttermilk. But it no longer loves me. My stomach says no, the rest of me says yes. What happened to my stomach minding its own business? I worry about when my car needs an oil change. I can’t tell if the time-honored, every-3,000-miles thing is right for my engine or just right for Pennzoil. At least I finally stopped asking for tune-ups. Of course I worry about the kids and grandkids. I worry if Indiana University ever again will be No. 1 in basketball. I worry if the lawnmower will re-start this spring and I worry how TV’s “Game of Thrones” will end. There’s little to nothing I can do about any of it. Like that matters. And I worry more and more about falls. World peace should matter more than not tripping over the vacuum cleaner cord. Seniors have enough on our fading minds. What places offer the best senior discounts? What time are those early-bird specials? Must hearing aids cost as much as our first houses? But here I am, one slip or stumble away from real pain and possible peril. After my last big fall, my ribs hated me for months. A lot of us fall. Falls can kill or seriously injure people. I knew a man in New Albany who fell from one of those two-or-three step ladders. He was putting together a swing set for his little ones. He never walked again. He became a quadriplegic, and he could not so much as turn his head. Looking at his family, he told me he felt lucky, all in all. I still too often don’t look on the bright side myself. While I get my mind right, I can keep trying to keep my body upright. My grandparents took like a day and a half to go up or down stairs. Now I do. And if I’m on the move in socks but no shoes, well, pray for me. Plus, I’m halfdizzy half the time, an unavoidable joy of senior citizenship. Falls scare me like snakes and sweet potatoes do. I admit it, I am psyched out. Handrails are my new heroes. If holding on for dear life is as pitiful as I get, though, that really is lucky. Aging is both to be accepted and to be confronted. I cannot turn back the clock. None of us can. But I can embrace whatever time is left. I’d better. Going slower still involves going. Eating out at 5 p.m. still means getting out and about. Changing the car’s oil — whenever it is right — still means driving. It signals flipping the bird to dependence. If falling can be avoided, I certainly intend to avoid it. If not, I plan to get up and to get back to shuffing into the future. If I must fall, please may it be on my way back from the bathroom, not on my way to it. That’s not asking for too much. I fell for my wife back when cars indeed needed tune-ups. I fall occasionally for songs and shows and shirts and sales. I fall for dogs and for hot dogs. Falling can be so terrific, as well as so terrible. I’m not sure how I’ll cope if I fall over a dog, or my wife. Strangers call and write, eager to help by selling me something. If anyone knows the sure-fire secret to keeping on one’s feet, though, he or she has not shared it. I actually might pay for that if I can get a senior discount. I forge ahead instead, acutely aware that forging ahead is not guaranteed. Getting wobblier, like getting more wrinkly, goes with aging. Falling and I again will I collect worries like I used to collect baseball cards. Only some of these worries fall within the bounds of sanity. I worry about drinking more buttermilk, for instance. meet. I can get used to taking my time like I got used to the ringing in my ears. If I can co-exist with cancer and heart disease, I can cope with the fear of falling. Especially since I have great people in my life to help me back up. I hope you do, too. • After 25 years, Dale Moss retired as Indiana columnist for The Courier-Journal. He now writes weekly for the News and Tribune. Dale and his wife Jean live in Jeffersonville in a house that has been in his family since the Civil War. Dale’s e- mail is dale.moss@twc.com <strong>Mar</strong>/<strong>Apr</strong> <strong>2019</strong> • 9
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