Any of you youngsters out there remember the song “Don’t worry, be happy.”  stuff.  Bull goo.

I’d like to think by the time I need the inevitable pace maker it will include an app to plug the holes in my leaking brain.

I silently simmer when I ask my geriatrician how to stop the drain brain, and she says, “Your brain is fine for your age.”

“Fine for your age” is a variation of the “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” song.    I am 75, creaky, cranky, and invisible or dissed by those under thirty.

I am facing a downhill ride that promises worse. Mae West had it right aging is for hero’s and sissies had better live fast and die young.

So don’t tell me “Fine for my age.”  my brain might still be a bit better than most, but my bank account isn’t.

I can’t “Be happy” when I am on five mediations that keep me alive, but are so expensive I can no longer afford to eat out.

Rather then resent my dwindling income and loss of some of the smaller pleasures of life,  the happiness gurus tell me to look on the bright side.  Well, reminding myself that my  dying taste buds mean I wouldn’t enjoy an expensive dinner anyway doesn’t cut the mustard or the steak.

Restaurant food has never tasted as good as my own cooking, but being waited on, joking with cute waiters who  laugh with me,  and treat me as Queen for an Hour, and not having to clean up make dining out a pleasure I would still like to enjoy had I cash aplenty.

Here’s another “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” line that gets thrown at us geriatric cases.  “You look so young.”

As Mark Twain said, “When your friends begin to flatter you on how young you look, it’s a sure sign you’re getting old.”

Every time that line gets thrown at me at I want to pull the few remaining hairs covering the ever-widening pink stripe that says “Live long enough and you’ll have to wear a wig.”

Damn, if I will. I am old and getting older.  Aging is not easy, but I have never been one to worry about looks.  For me, the Be Happy part of not being a beauty helps here.  I had to develop character and brains to compete with the Homecoming Queens and Cheerleaders.  My bitter wormwood got  a bit sweeter when I hit fifty and began to look better then most of the beauties I envied in my youth.

Anyway, I will be bald and proud.  That is if I outlive my hair loss.  Okay, almost the end of my cranky rant.  But first another cartoon.

As bad as aging is, I am still hoping to reach ninty with enough of body and brain functioning to be able to proclaim myself a super hero.


Tip one: Enjoy all you have now.  It might not get any better. It probably won’t.

Tip two:  Indulge in all possible pleasures. I love what I call Katherine’s martini’s. Vodka on the rocks.  Not suppose to drink, but a sip now does what it used to take a full shot to do.  So I sip now and again and enjoy.

Tip three:  Do be grateful some pleasures no longer delight. I used to plan to take up smoking when I retired.  I quit when I first became pregnant and for years used to stand next to smokers to inhale, I missed smoking so much.

Now hate the thought and crank at husband if he tries to smoke in the house.

Tip four:  Enjoy the perks of aging.  Because you are invisible to many and deemed not worthy of paying attention to you can be who you are.  I don’t wear a purple hat and I do try to look neat and clean, but I also care a lot less about pleasing the maddening crowd.

Tip five: Enjoy harmless thoughts of revenge.  I practice funny curses in my head when someone steps on my aging nerves.  Here are some of my favorites:

May all your teeth fall out except for the one with the toothache!

May your face-lift fall along with your fake boobs.

May a prickly pear cactus grow in you navel.

May the IRS audit and fine you big time.

May you bite into an apple and then find half a worm.

May all three of your vacation houses burn to the ground on the night your stocks turn worthless and three days after your accountant forgot to pay the insurance premiums.

Tip six:  Don’t let them see you sweat.  My sweat glands seem to have dried up with age, but keeping a cheerful face gets me less grief than when I show my sour puss.

Tip seven: Worry only about what you control, which isn’t much.

Tip eight: Be kind to your elders.  Your time is coming.

Tip nine:  Practice a daily emotional fitness program and despite this rant, my Daily Twelve does include practicing gratitude.

Tip ten: Remember what matters. Not money, not looks, not fame. Friends, family, doing good so you feel good about yourself and those you leave behind will remember you fondly.


Despite all the hype about deciding to be happy and following your dreams , life is a struggle and full of pain, difficult times, troubled relationships.  Denying that is denying reality.

At the same time life is at times an easy ride, full of peaceful times, loving relationships, and many moments of  contentment, joy, and even happiness.  Denying that is also denying reality.  So get through what you cannot enjoy and enjoy what you can.

Practice kindness

If you like this post, please pass it on. That will help me and might help someone else and you can feel virtuous for being kind to a cranky old lady.

You might also enjoy my Emotional Fitness Pinterest Board

DISCLAIMER: FORGIVE MY GRAMMATICAL ERRORS  If you need perfect posts, you will not find them here. I will understand if you don’t follow, like or share my blog. Not only am I dealing with an aging brain, but all of my life I have been plagued by dysgraphia–a learning disability. Could crank a lot about that but will not bore you this time around.



  1. I looked in the mirror this morning and saw an old sunken eyes, a face like a railway junction with so many lines criss-crossing everywhere.
    so I put on my preservation cream, put on a bit of lippie and smiled. Do you know what? all the lines disappeared in the face smiling back at me and there was a twinkle in those old eyes… the answer is KEEP SMILING! and don’t let life get you down

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