The Devil Wears Expensive Clothes

The Devil Wears Expensive Clothes

Victim of the evil lurking
casual in his Armani suit,
polished Tanino Crisci shoes –
fashion on the edge, fit to kill;
I never should have taken
that fatal neck snapping look.

Struck down by piercing eyes,
drowned in stark black pools,
my breathing stilled, heart stopped.
My life blood flowed out;
my soul cut, maimed, left in shreds.
Damn! He sure looked good!

Lascivious pleasure gone wild,
bordering on insane rapture;
he captured every virtue
I hung onto, destroyed resolve,
and made impossible
a life outside his realm.

Imprisoned in slave quarters;
feelings like electric current
mask all comprehension
of my final destination.
My slide right into Hell's entry
only a subtle distinction
from the place I've lived.

Comments on the poem by Dan Sturn:
Karen, An excellent free-verse poem that starts out with slap-in-the-face modern visuals to describe our culture's violation of "the first and second commandments." From there the Poet leads us into the experience or realizing that the modern image is indeed the Devil himself. Ending by invoking the feeling of enslavement and discouragement, and a reminder that we currently live in a culture not far from hell.

How to Trim a Cat's Claws

How to Trim a Cat's Claws

Trimming a cat's claws is both an act of courage and a labor of love.  Courage comes into play because most cats are not going to cooperate in this minor surgical procedure. You will likely become the target of all their pent up frustrations.  Love of your intact drapes and fabric on the new couch is the driving force that causes you to even consider this ominous task.  Here are some guidelines that may help you to either come to your senses and abandon all thought of this action, or assist you in living through it.

1. Place the cat in secure place as you gather the necessary equipment.  Cats seem to have ESP and disappear like Houdini when you are only thinking about trimming their claws.  Do not, under any circumstance, utter the words "trim," "clippers," or even "claws" within your cat's hearing.
2. Put on old garments you won't mind having shredded.
3. Select a site, preferably on a surface where human blood will not stain.
4. Locate the following and take it to the location you have predetermined:
        • Large towel for wrapping the cat.  Make sure it is a towel with which you can part.
        • Nail clippers;
        • Antiseptic and bandages (for you not the cat);
        • Lint (cat hair) removing brush;
        • A strong, sedating drink, to be taken internally following surgery (by you, not the cat).
5. Re-assess why you want to do this, and make sure that it is really that important to keep the furnishings of your home intact.
6. Take a moment to think about why you own a cat and be absolutely sure that you aren't a dog person after all.
7. Don't even try to call a friend to come help.  You will get no answer.  They have ESP too.  You are on your own.  If you are going to abandon your plan, now is the time.
8. Get the cat. Try saying calmly, "Nice, kitty, kitty."  It will do no good, but it may make you feel better as you put a strangle hold on the struggling cat.
9. Quickly, and I cannot emphasize this enough, quickly take the cat to the appointed location and wrap him or her in the towel. Hold the wrapped cat like your life depends on it.  It probably does.
10. If you are right handed, pick up the clippers with your right hand; press the bundled cat against your body for stability, your left elbow over the squirming package; and with your left hand, using a death grip pull out the first front paw.  If you actually accomplish this on the first try, you may have the makings of a pro cat handler.
11. Clip the claws being sure not to get into the quick or else the cat will bleed.  "Well, why shouldn't the cat bleed too?" you may be thinking after the feline gets in a swipe or two.  Most cats have five claws on each foot.  If you are particularly cursed, your cat will have six.
12. Poke the finished paw back under the towel and pull out the second front foot.  This procedure can be tricky, and you may find that you have to re-secure the towel.  Not having been sedated prior to this procedure, you will find the cat remains active.  Having acquired access to the second paw by whatever means necessary, clip the claws on that foot. 
13. If you get this far into the procedure and you have not dumped the cat out of the towel and said, "Go!  Rip the furniture to shreds!  See if I care!", you are doing well.
14. Some demented souls continue on to clip the hind claws.  Don't be this stupid!  Let the cat go and have that stiff drink.  Forget the lint brush. Trash the towel and clothing. 
15. Once sedated, wipe up your blood, bandage your wounds and think again about whether or not you are really a dog person after all.

© Copyright 2009 Karen M. Crump

In the Chrysalis

In the Chrysalis

A poem for those who need a break, a rest, a rejuvenation

Today, in the world I took such a hit;
I’ve laid down my weapons, finally quit.

I am safe in the chrysalis once more;
on butterfly wings, I will again soar

…but not today.

Copyright © 2006 by Karen M. Crump

Attempt at Independent Sailing

Attempt at Independent Sailing

There's always someone who would change me.

Gripping the railing when I begin sailing
on the ocean of my impermanent life,
the tangible end my fingers restrain.

I clutch my identity in assembly,
my inimitable character and line.
Originality is under a strain.

With inevitable human invasion,
adjacent hands with thumbs would decant and mold,
intent to change my sacred domain.

Opposable thumb touching other digits,
creates a connection, a circular
representation of a link in a chain.

I shift, I chaff at the thought of restriction,
of being held to a course of another's choice.
On the sea of independence I remain.

© Copyright 2011 Karen M. Crump

Before That Last Birthday Comes

Before That Last Birthday Comes

If he had known it would be the
last celebration of his birth;
would he have taken other journeys
while still living here on this earth?
Would his steps have been as rigid,
or his hair so neatly trimmed and combed?
Perhaps he might have ventured out
and traveled through this world wind blown?

So many sights he did not see,
sticking to a plan he could not escape.
moving in a straight line direction,
full throttle, no foot on the brakes.
If only he’d slowed down, turned a corner
in a direction he’d never been
and learned the one who gets finished first
is not the one who is going to win.

On that uninviting day he died,
his world was still locked tight in its frame.
One birthday had led to another,
with the days in between all the same.
Were he able to speak from the grave,
would there be overwhelming regret?
Would he stand up and shout to us all,
“Be brave and go with the wind!”

January 2010 by Karen Marie Crump

Escaping Winter’s Prison

Escaping Winter’s Prison

My frozen being was resolved never more to melt nor thaw

not quite content but willing to accept the icy state;

for if the chill would lessen and the flesh begin to melt,

then consciousness would enter and give a face to my fate.

In consequence of actions, my life had been suspended.

I dared not remember nor give permission to my mind

to walk down those frigid passageways where my thoughts might slip

and contemplate September with the leaf still on the vine.

But now the ice is broken by desire I can’t control.

Resolve was not the fortress with impenetrable walls

for there are cracks and crevices giving way to the weight

of the pounding of my hardened heart as it heaves and falls.

My soul’s eyes are open, through narrow slits I now can see,

the vision of early Autumn before the winter frost,

when my heart was still enraptured by slowly changing leaves

caught up in the colors of an affection not yet lost.

“I remember” - these words possess an excruciating pain.

The blast of your cold rejection begins in memory’s trap

with a vision of wind swept trees whose leaves have met their death.

Winter’s passion was not far behind.  I was in its path.

Weakened by the pace of rapid rising temperatures,

the former frozen prison melts into icy river’s flow.

My eyes close in an unengaged form of acquiescence

as I’m carried along aimlessly in the undertow.

Will I drown in the many waters - swirling, churning;

or be contained and swept along until my life’s renewed.

From frozen state to river’s path, it’s not the way I’d choose;

but in the end I think I will again see morning’s dew.

by Karen Marie Crump

Prompt for poem: "O, That this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew."  Hamlet, Act I, scene ii

Rhythmic Rumblings of Possible Madness

Rhythmic Rumblings of Possible Madness

Thoughts relentlessly raid with resounding rhymes,
rippling waves of randomly rotating words
drown out any common sense left in my mind.

Haze of insanity hovers around me
covering my mind with a pervading throb;
how can I cling to primal reality?

If there is a profundity taking place,
I’ve missed the meaning and message of such truth.
Overwhelming clanging fills my mental space.

Losing my mind in pieces, parts and phases;
I live through each minute dazed and exhausted.
I positively believe I’m half crazy.

Unquestionably captured, caught in a trap;
the rumbling only ceases when I speak out loud.
With slipping and stumbling, when will my mind snap?

Intended form: 5 tercets with an a-b-a rhyme scheme (near rhyme used in some places), 11 syllables in each line, with the use of alliteration, assonance, and consonance.

© Copyright 2011 Karen M. Crump

Looking on from Sixth Sense

Looking on from Sixth Sense

Flashes of smoky images
crash against the mental cortex
warping time and memory
and hovering on the edge of sight.
Head turning, nothing there;
nape of neck erecting
as phalangeal ghosts play on.
Muted, muffled moans
strum the triune ear
in  sensual vibrations
fading at the listening.
Edgy epidermal equations
make no sense
and cause the skin to crawl.
Flares of nasal resonance
announce the scent so near
and yet undetectable.
Have I lost my senses
or has the taste once sweet
gone sour and so I do not eat?

Copyright  © July 26, 2009 by Karen M. Crump

Sorrow

Sorrow

Can one truly understand another's sorrow
or touch upon the depth of pain
that seeps into the soul's center
when death or other lonely thing
enters in and takes, removes the source
of light and love and comfort?
Deep calling to deep and deeper still,
the rumbling in the darkness
echos throughout the night -
a night that knows no daybreak
nor moon nor stars that shine.
For no light appears in such deep places.
No comfort comes, but sorrow winds
its tentacles into tomorrow.
Will it never go away?

10-19-2009 by Karen Marie Crump

Aaron Neville and My Soul

Aaron Neville and My Soul

I ride the waves of the music

making their way through my soul,

as Aaron sings, “Tell it like it is.”

And how my heart cries to do so –

tell it, tell it like it really is

here in the dark, inside

where no one sees but me.

A witness has not been found

who observed the wounding,

the knife thrusts deep and sharp.

No, no ones eyes have seen but mine.

“Feelings,” Aaron now sings

and touches mine with his words,

a prick that starts the bleeding

all over again – or did it ever stop?

He prophesies that “One fine day,”

life will begin fresh and new

with a healing love to ply its trade

and provide salvation’s transfusion.

Will I live to see the day?

“Ain’t No Sunshine.” All is shade

and darker still where no sun has been

in a decade of shut doors and windows.

Heart too weak to open from inside.

Is there chance that someone

will from without throw the latch?

Aaron has “sunshine on a cloudy day.”

I wish I could walk in his steps, I pray

Behind, beside – somewhere in the sun

may I, a new journey begin.

Copyright  © 2010 by Karen M. Crump

A Love Story

A Love Story

In loneliness and a time of sorrow,

I chose then to safely follow

right behind your certain steps

letting you lead the way to success.

In love I fell, with your poised stand.

that I envisioned as I ran

to reach across the span of time

to see if I could make you mine.

Although your face was turned from me,

in my heart, I knew your visage

was one of firm determination,

but without harsh condemnation.

A bonding in the course of words

with definitions that I’d never heard.

My study there at your knee

was in complete, total harmony.

When our hearts became entwined,

it was a sweet as aged wine.

Although, we had erred in the past;

we knew the best was saved for last.

On down the road, we have come.

We’ve lost a few and won some

of heated battles life can harbor.

Now we sit beneath the arbor.

In the shade, I gaze through shadows

and see the sun shine on the meadows.

The pastures now are brown and dry,

but there is no drought within my eyes.

Copyright  © November 27, 2008 by Karen M. Crump

Sinking to the Depths and Rising Again

Sinking to the Depths and Rising Again

A poem that reflects on the path from hopelessness to hope renewed

Shadows fall on vacant space ’twixt today and yesterday
and frame the face white washed with fear in such a mournful way.

The air that once was clean and clear now turns stale and vapid
as fear labored breath exhales, the pulse becomes quite rapid.

Reality slips in and out as denial is the choice
to quiet whispers of the spirit’s further weakened voice.

In vacancy between the days, sanity comes along;
by counting down while looking back to see where life went wrong;

Such pain, such depth of loneliness and fear is deep inside,
no call for help the lips convey because of foolish pride.

Ever spiraling downward, the will is crushed to dust
Voices speak with lying tongues, “There is no one you can trust.”

In the deepening pits of hell, life lingers by a thread,
as visions of a former life now wander through the head.

In fits of restless sleeping, in the dark comes a night’s dream,
as demons dance within the mind; the soul begins to scream.

Somewhere must lie the answer that will end this constant pain,
a means of rising from the dirt to once again live sane.

Oh, Spirit come and take my hand and lead me to the way
out of this mire, this darkened path, where I have gone astray.

If life there is for me to have, then bring again the sun.
Let me bask in light again until victory I have won.


Copyright © 2006 by Karen M. Crump  

I Live with a Dichotomy

I Live with a Dichotomy

A poem revealing the diversity of thought in one's own mind

 
I live with a dichotomy,
divisions in my mind
ever present, always searching
for what I cannot find.
When I am on the one side,
truth is on the other.
When spark of passion rises,
something is sure to smother.

Turning left and then to right,
my mental neck does snap;
and when I seek to grasp,
I feel caught in a trap.
In the corner of my eye,
a shadow seems to leer
but when I turn to look,
my vision is unclear.

Divide me down the middle
and in the bloody flow
perhaps you’ll find the answer
to what I’ll never know:
what is the vital portion
destined to the light of day
if partitions in my mind
would have gone away.

© Copyright 2008 Karen M. Crump

Even in a Dream

Even in a Dream

In sleep or dream, the realities of life

 

"To sleep, perchance to dream,"
with childlike thoughts of sugar plums
though doubtful any child has seen one.
Not I in over 60 years of dreaming.

Cool pillow turns to heat as sleep evades
or keeps the body in an alternate state
of intellectual stimulation.
A wonderland of thought and vision
is the dream of youth.

Worries and tasks to long left undone
consume the midnight hours of the aged
who can no longer take task in hand
and lift it until completed.
"Ah, there's the rub!"

On stiffened joints and painful muscles,
a salve of youth would be refreshing.
If one could see the future,
would one go there?
Even in a dream?

Quotes from Shakespeare's "Hamlet"

© Copyright 2010 Karen M. Crump

The Spirit is Me

The Spirit is Me

Spiritual reality

It is Your Spirit, Mighty God
that bears true life from above
and transports humans just like me
into Your spiritual reality.

The flesh, my suit I must wear
in this earthly atmosphere.
It’s service is to hold the truth
of my spirit’s brand new birth.

In bondage, I was once alone
for I had wandered far from home.
I did not know the path to take
or how to pray “for Jesus sake.”

Then a Word of Truth was given me
that opened up my eyes to see
I had not only human frame
but Spirit Life through Jesus name.

In the midst of all eternity,
You took time to ransom me
and place Your name upon my brow
to claim me as an adopted child.

In the holy tomes of heaven,
my name is indelibly written
as an heir to Your vast estate
of which I can freely partake.

Jesus came not to change the Law
but to accumulate and draw
all its facets in one clear decree:
“Love My Father and love Me.”

And when that Love is Spirit driven,
it will soar and reach to heaven
and bring down to human kind
God’s eternal Life Divine.

Copyright  ©  December 13, 2008 by Karen M. Crump

Trust God

Trust God

When your mind does not understand,
and your life seems to have no plan;
shout up into the sky, “Trust God.

When your heart is at its weakest,
and the future looks its bleakest;
down in your soul reply, “Trust God.”

When you wrestle the enemy,
and you can’t see the victory;
make this your battle cry, “Trust God.”

When death is knocking at your door,
and there’s nothing left to live for;
breathe out a gentle sigh, “Trust God.”

Copyright  ©  July 12, 2009 by Karen M. Crump

Quiet Listening

Quiet Listening

in silence hear

Ears attuned can recognize
the language of the earth:
howlings of sorrow,
chirpings of mirth.
So much in the tunes
that all around play,
matching their resonance
to time of the day.
Do we hear? Do we listen?
Are we aware? Do we care?
Quiet listening.

© Copyright 2010 Karen M. Crump

Don't Give Up Your Music

Don’t Give Up Your Music

Refuse to compromise the music in your soul

Music in your heart is
quintessentially you.
It is the tune and beat
to which your body moves.

Symphony or one flute,
the tune's not always clear.
Quiet meditation
will help your soul to hear.

Unique in every way,
your name is in the song
playing within your heart
as your life sings along.

Some will try to tell you
all must be harmony.
They'll change your music
if you give them the key.

"We must walk in concert,"
is what they'll come and say.
"Give to us your music,
we know a better way."

And when they've collected
all the music everywhere,
the tune that they'll produce
will sound full of despair.

Soul without its music
will give a mournful cry
and from the void within
will shrivel up and die.

No matter the rhythm,
it is what makes you You.
Refuse to compromise,
to your music stay true.

Copyright  © December 23, 2008 by Karen M. Crump

On the Occasion of my Life

On the Occasion of my Life

It is what it is and no more

What can be said of my life
except I survived and tried to do
what I thought was right.
Did the trying always match the deed?
No, there were times I looked aside
and did the thing I thought in error
would bring sweet relief.

I took care of what I was given
as best as I knew how
even when I saw nothing
but darkness rising – no light dawning.
"There will be another day.
The sun will shine again."
I told myself these words,
my mind only half believing.
But it was the right thing to do –
to hope, to believe, to try
to keep the fear from seeping
into my child as he lay sleeping.

I endeavored to impart hope and cheer
to others along the way
when there was nothing within me
but loneliness and fear.
Never quite connecting to another soul,
I knew the hand of friendship;
but it did not make me whole.
I gave when there was nothing more to give,
when it was all I could do to get through
one more pain filled day.
I knew life-giving words to say,
but my heart did not hear them.

I've lived within the chrysalis,
waiting to take flight;
longing to be lovely;
for the wings to make life right.
I thought I felt them once
sprouting from my sides
and hoped it was my time to fly.
I felt the rush of passion,
the blush was on my cheek;
but suddenly my wings were smashed.
My hope turned to grief.

There have been moments,
dashes in the realm of time,
when something akin to peace
seemed to sweep lightly across my skin.
Looking back, it was likely
only the foehn wind
sweeping down from a mountaintop
where I'd never been.

As I write these words,
I see the falsehoods and lies
pouring from the lips of men
as they give their words a spin
not even trying to do what's right.
At least, I've always tried
to share the truth
even when I could not live it.
Surviving is something;
trying perhaps a little more.
I only hope that in some way
I've shown someone the Door.

© Copyright 2010 Karen M. Crump

In a Tide of Transformation...
My reality...

My life's a revolving door which moves both ways
allowing people to freely go or stay.
Inside in the foyer is a welcome sign,
"Now that you are here, please keep this is mind."

"I am who I am - I may never change,
or I may sway with the wind and rearrange
all that you thought I was and go a new way.
Take me or leave me - I can't make you stay."

"My reality moves in the flowing tide.
It sweeps backwards and forwards, side to side.
If you're caught in my wake and constant churning,
No apology - it's not you I'm spurning."
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note: As I go along in life, I find that that my reality ebbs and flows, changes over time. What was once is no more. This is a poem I wrote in 2010 in that regard.

Old Dogs and Grandma's Apron

You know, when we get older we often look back on our life and try to see what was truly important.  This story is about one such look back in my life.

 

Old Dogs and Grandma's Apron

 
I was sitting at my kitchen table folding the laundry, which I'd done earlier in the day, when it came to me like wisdom – about what's wrong with our kids nowadays. It comes down to two things we are missing: old dogs and grandma's aprons and the love which they displayed.

Back in the day – a long time ago it seems -  a kid could go to grandma's house to escape the worries of the day. "Hey, Gran!  Where's old Mike?" I can hear the young boy say as he went looking for the dog who was most likely sunning himself behind the house.

When that old dog saw the boy, he would get up and stretch his legs and wag his tail saying hello in his own way.  Without a word being spoken, that old dog would follow the boy to the woods behind Gran's house until they came to their special place. It might have been a big flat rock or a big old tree fallen from a long ago storm. But whatever it was, the boy would take a seat; and old Mike would lie down at his feet.

If it was something really sad that brought the boy to Gran's house, he'd grab Mike around the neck and let the tears fall into the fur of the dog his daddy called a stupid, mangy cur. Mike would sit there still as stone and then he'd turn and lick the boy in the face as if the tears and the sadness he could erase.  Then back to the house they'd head; problems of the world put into their proper place.

At other times, the boy would wander into Gran's kitchen and watch her cooking at the stove or rolling out dough for biscuits or the lemon cookies that he loved. Grandma always wore an apron, a loop around the neck and tied at the waist with big pockets in front. It kept her dress clean while she was cooking, cleaning, or doing other household things; but it was much more than just a covering.

The boy would hang around the door not saying a word.  Gran would wash her hands and dry them on her apron before going over to a chair at the kitchen table.  "Boy, come over here and give your Gran a hug," she would say.  That's all it took sometimes to get to the bottom of things.  The boy would run to his Gran with tears in his eyes and get a big hug and then lay his head down on her lap and cry into that apron while she stroked his head.  "What's wrong, boy?" Gran would ask.  And between the tears, the words would tumble out.  It's not that Gran always had an answer to the worry of the day, but she was always there and took her apron and wiped the tears away.  Somehow that old apron, worn by many washings, was like magic; it set things right just by its touch.  Or did it simply reflect a grandma's loving heart?

On happy days, the boy would take the old dog and play.  Tossing sticks for Mike to fetch and then running here and there.  No better companion could be found.  He didn't complain or want to be "first" or get mad when the boy decided not to play anymore.  It was an easy friendship.

And if the boy should take a tumble and skin his knee up real bad, Mike would run over and lick the wound and wait right there until the boy got up from the ground.  The boy would head to the kitchen where Gran could always be found.  She'd take a look at that knee and say, "Boy, come over here and get up on this table."

The boy would go over and use a chair to step up to the old wooden table.  He'd take a seat with his legs hanging down.  Gran would wet an apron corner at the sink and come over and wash the wound clean.  She'd take another corner and use it like a fan to dry the boy's knee.  From next to the stove, she'd grab a jar of salve and put a small dab on her hand and gently, oh so gently; she would rub it into the wound.  "There, boy," she'd say.  "You're fine now.  Get on down now and go back and play."  And fine he was.

Old dogs and grandma's apron.  I paused from my laundry folding and thought long and hard about this new found wisdom until tears filled my eyes.  I don't even own an apron, and my grandchildren are far away.  We have some very fine dogs, but none of them is an old mangy cur named Mike, a plain old dog who will lick the tears from my face.  We've lost some irreplaceable things some where along the way.

Copyright ©  January 5, 2010  by Karen M. Crump

Edited: May 29, 2011

A Lifetime to Realize

A Lifetime to Realize
The fires of life shape our souls

It's hard to remember who I am
in the midst of life's conflagrations.
Traced in constellations far away,
a light without darkness lingers.
Being what good is supposed to be,
my original bright conception calls out to me.
Sometimes it takes a lifetime to realize
that the fires burn the chaff away
leaving just a lovely lasting glow.

© Copyright 2011 Karen M. Crump

Dedicated to a still brightly burning star: Larry Ray Powers

Simply Functioning

This is a poem I wrote in 2011.

 

Simply Functioning
Tales of Aging

Stress fractured mental condition,
interruption causes me to leave things behind.
Staying focused on the subject
prevents me from skipping vital steps in my mind.
Simmering frustration foments
when enormous efforts don't produce in the end.
Simple factors complicated,
brings agitation when I cannot comprehend.
Senior faculties faltering,
makes simple functioning a monumental task.
Self forgiveness isn't easy;
keeping it hidden from others is all I ask.

© Copyright 2011 Karen M. Crump

Aging Woman in Repose

This is a poem I wrote in 2011.

 

Aging Woman in Repose
Living in the past tense

 
She gathers and guards her treasures
there is little else to measure
a lifetime in the past tense.
She mutters not making much sense.

Yellowed letter from her husband,
envelope opened, reopened,
a twist of lovely golden hair
from a time he was young and fair.

A ragged heart shape with childish scrawls,
"I love you, Mom," the message calls
to old memories of days gone by.
Oh, how quickly the time can fly!

Ink penned poems in a journal,
paint a picture like a mural,
of a woman's romantic soul,
composed when her mind was still whole.

She gathers and guards her treasures.
These tokens provide a measure
of a lifetime in the past tense.
She mutters and to God makes sense.

© Copyright 2011 Karen M. Crump

Old Worn Out Parts

This is a poem I wrote in 2006.

 

Old Worn Out Parts

Old men and pick up trucks

 

Hole in the manifold,
a glitch in the starter;
the engine has grown cold -
don’t run like it “oughter.”

Transmission stuck in first,
the u-joint going out;
the radio is static -
worn out beyond a doubt.

Aging trucks and old men,
their time has come to pass.
The parts may all be there;
but they’ve run out of gas.

Copyright © April 12, 2006 by Karen M. Crump

Aging 101

This is a primer I wrote on aging in its first draft.

 

Aging 101

A Primer on Aging

This is a primer on things they've never told you about growing old.  Why, you say, don't they tell the secrets?  Because the young ones don't know them, and the old ones, well... They figure it's better if you find out for yourself. Not all of the things mentioned show up at one time nor does everyone necessarily have them all before they die.  However, I bet if oldsters were honest, they could relate to most of this information. Growing old isn't funny even though you'll hear joking at and from oldsters.  I think sometimes it is just to keep from crying.  So much of life has been lost, gone forever.

I'll take it from the top, maybe jump around a little; but I'll give you some information you may never have heard.  And some of you, may wish you hadn't.  I'll be basing this on the view point of a woman since that is what I know most about.

Hair: Your once shiny, silky hair will turn coarse and frizzy, not to mention the gray or silver highlights.  Not all gray is pretty, so keep this in mind when you criticize an oldster who colors her hair.  Many older women keep their hair short because they can't reach their arms up to take proper care of long hair.

Hair grows in places where it didn't used to be.  Since the eyesight is failing, that hair on the chin can get rather long.  Tweezers work when you can see well enough.  After that, a quick shave, and the troubling hair is gone.

Shaving legs and arms, why the bother?  Nobody cares, and it hurts just too much to get into positions to do a proper job.

Face and Head and Neck: Oh, my, this is a hard one in how to describe it.  Your forehead falls down, and your lips pucker up.  Those furrow lines in the brow do not always mean the person is mad; it's just a result of gravity taking it to the head.  I say the lips pucker which isn't quite right.  The lips disappear almost altogether.  There's only a thin ridge where the lips used to be.  Now you can see why old women have lipstick wider than their lips: because they can't find any lips to put it on.

Oh, and go for the throat!  Sometimes swallowing gets tricky.  I don't know if something down there gets smaller or gets cranky.  You will find yourself choking a lot more often on something that used to go right down.  You'll have to eat more slowly.  I've been fortunate to have my own teeth, but some people lose theirs and have to get false ones.  That comes with its own set of complications.

Age spots appear.  Is it one for each decade?  Without makeup, it looks like your face is dirty.

Wrinkles, you have them pretty much everywhere; but on the face is the most recognizable.  They make ridges and ruts deeper than you would think possible on a once smooth face.

Headaches come often as does pain in the neck.

Not everyone has a real double chin; some just have one which is wobblier and longer.

Eyes and Nose and Ears:  Each of these has their own particular aging symptoms.  None of them continue to work like they did before.  Your eyesight weakens, and you'll probably need glasses.  But there are some other strange things to look out for.  Floaters and lightening are two of the most popular.  Floaters are little black ragged dots which flit before your eyes.  You take your hand to swish the bug away, and nothing is there.  You think you're going crazy, and you might be; but the more likely option is that your eyes have these little black dots in them.  I don't remember the medical explanation, but the young eye doctor says not to worry it happens to all of us.  Not worry - wait until he gets them. 

The "lightning strikes" are a bit more frightening.  You are out one evening and dim and dark.  Out of the corner of your eye, you see a flash.  You look where it came from and nothing is there.  If you happen to have a porch light on with bugs flying round, you assume it was the bugs dashing in front of the light and making it seem to flicker.  You'll accept this explanation a time or two, and then you'll worry again that there is something wrong with your mind.  No, it's just another symptom of aging eyes. It can be a serious condition, so it is worth checking it out with an eye doctor; but usually it's just one more thing to live with.  They diminish some after they start.

You won't smell things as well.  I have no idea why.  I guess the nose is tired of all the things its had to put up with over time.

Hearing will diminish in most people.  They will play the radio louder and not answer when you speak to them from far away.  Maybe they are just trying to block you out, but more likely they just don't hear as well anymore.  This can certainly affect relationships if it is not discussed and understood. 

Arms and Elbows and Wrists and Hands: These extremities have done a lot of work over the years, and they are seeking retirement.  Arms won't reach up as far and if they do there is pain.  Arms won't extend outward for long; too hard to maintain.  Elbows ache greatly and refuse to bend.  Wrists get carpal tunnel, a real painful mess.  It keeps you from doing a lot of things you used to be able to do.  Like lifting a full pan off the stove.  Fingers and hands get cramped and stiff, bent and deformed from arthritic conditions.  The backs of your hands get shinny and wrinkled.

Skin all over gets very thin, but it is most noticeable on the arms.  That's because it is more exposed to the elements.  What would have been a slight bruise in the past becomes a bleeding wound.  Bruises are huge when they happen.

Legs and Ankles and Feet and Toes: These extremities have covered a lot of miles, and they want to join the arms in more sedentary lifestyle.  They hurt and they tell you about it.
Charlie Horses, leg cramps, toe cramps, calf cramps – anything that will cramp usually does often.  Feet deform as do the toenails.  Why, I don't know.  I guess just from all the pressure.  And worst of all, the feet don't rise like they used to.  You can trip over the slightest thing, and your legs won't help you push back up from the ground.  They are weakened. You then have to use your hands and that makes your wrists hurt.  Much more to say, but I'll leave it for now.

Torso:  Depending on your body style – thin, just right, or fat; there will be things you battle as your body ages.  Fat is actually the worst from a standpoint of getting around.  Too many extra pounds to carry on a weakened structure.

Private Parts: Some sag, some dry up, others have to be removed.  Some don't let things out; others won't keep things in.  Pooping and peeing become major events either from the expectation or the sudden reality or the constancy.  Don't take a long trip.  Keep extra underwear close at hand.

The Mind:  I've left this for about last because it is the most traumatic when it no longer works as it used to.  Not remembering is not a joke and can be dangerous.  Leave a stove on and forget it.  Let the dog out into the heat and forget her.  Sometimes it is just annoying as your forget a process and have to repeat a recipe because you left something out.  At other times, you just sit down and cry because you can't figure out how to keep it from happening over and over.  You laugh in public, but inside your heart is breaking hoping no one will know how really bad it is.

It takes much longer to get things done because you have to process them slowly and consider each piece.  Before you might have raced through a well known project without even looking at directions.  Now, you look at directions and still get it wrong.

If you don't have a schedule and stick to it, you can get stressed and frustrated because you can't seem to prioritize like you once did.  A list is important, but you have to hang onto it and keep your lists in the same place always.  Resist that thought to move it somewhere else.  You'll regret it.

You end up crying because your mind is not sharp like it once was.  Tears are pretty much the same at whatever age; they came with sadness.

Overall System:  Aging brings with an instant package of tiredness - a fatigue not always remedied by sleep.  Sleep in the night time gets rarer and rarer as the aches and pains keep you awake.  Day time naps are not an option, but a necessity of life.  Joints stiffen in places you didn't know had joints, and aches occur without your knowing why.

There are all kinds of disorders, diseases, and conditions which afflict the oldster which never seemed to come calling when you were young.  Your bones will break easier and falls will come more often.  If you get a bladder infection, they may think you are senile.  I don't know why that is, but it's been medically documented.  In old age, a bladder infection presents in that way.

The Spirit: This is the only thing which never ages. It matures with growth, but does not grow old.  It is difficult to remember, this is what lasts forever in the midst of the decay of all the rest.

Aging 101 – First Draft

Falling Off the Aged Edge of LIfe

This is a poem I wrote in 2010

Falling Off the Aged Edge of Life

In the final season...

 

Disillusionment and despair,
resignation and dull routine,
brittle bones in aged disrepair
culminate in a mental scream.

Where is now the hopeful waking
for the day’s expected delight?
Where is the desire for making
effort in this plodding plight?

Tedium and trepidation;
a mélange in equal measure.
Overfilled and deprivation –
memories store a painful treasure.

There comes a day when tomorrow
is but a promise of more strife.
Waiting is the supreme sorrow,
falling off the aged edge of life.

“Sometimes in our lives we all have pain, we all have sorrow, but if we are wise we know that there is always tomorrow.  Lean on me…… “ Bill Withers

© Copyright 2010 Karen M. Crump