These Crumbling Structures

When we went cycling this afternoon, I noticed the above ruins for the first time. Of course, we hadn't ridden that way since last autumn. The thicker foliage, and make no mistake that there is foliage all around the remains of this structure and even inside it, would have kept the structure fairly hidden, unless you knew to look for it. With patience, dear reader might, eventually, see a connection between the photo and the rest of this post.

After the serendipitous photo op, in order continue on our little journey, we had to pedal up a little incline. I stood up to pedal and reached the top sooner than Cuppa who said, when she caught up, "I had to get off and walk it up. It was too hard on my knees." I told her that that was part of the reason why I stood up on inclines: because it was easier on my knees.

Cuppa: "But that's too hard on my neck to stand and pedal."

AC: "We're a couple of sorry specimens. Aren't we? Your neck; my knees?"

She didn't think so really, all things considered. Thought we were doing pretty well as a matter of fact. But I decided to confess that I felt about five years older this year than last ...

I have been thinking about age and aging (or ageing) quite a but lately. One supposes that these thoughts are totally natural considering my life stage, but I think they gained some momentum at the St Paddy's dance when a woman with whom we were sitting, introduced us to a friend. She said that they had gone to school together.

The thing was that the friend looked younger, despite not trying as hard. She had let her hair go natural and wore less makeup. She was less fashionable. But she still looked younger: something about her skin and complexion, I think.

About a week later, I was chatting with another acquaintance, male this time. Just that day, I had been wondering about his age and deduced that, based on appearance, it could be between 60 and 65. Nope: 72. Meanwhile, my SIL was shocked to learn that our 65-year-old neighbour is just that and not really 75. He simply looks and acts old. Then, there is a 45 year-old at the dance whose wrinkled jowls make her look older than the significantly older Cuppa — at least to me, but I confess to possibly being somewhat blinded by love.

It works both ways. Some look older than their real age, some younger. Of course, appearance only tells a part of the story.To wit: my hair is still almost all dark; there's very little grey, a bit more in my beard, but, even that is more dark than grey. My eyes, however, which may once have been my crowning glory are black-rimmed and saggy. Although I think that I do alright overall in terms of appearance, I may suffer more inner deterioration than others.

I am drawing no conclusion, simply indicating things that I have been recently observing and contemplating.

... On hearing my analysis (yes, this is continued from above), Cuppa opined that she, too, feels somewhat aged by the move. It's just not as easy to handle these sorts of things later in life. We stood there straddling our bikes for a few moments discussing these things. It seems more of a chore to do things now: seems to take more willpower and energy to get out on the bicycles, for example. We're on the eve, almost on the eve, of a big adventure — big for us at least — the trip to Arizona that I have previously mentioned. We know that we'll enjoy it once we get there, but we both confessed to not being overly exuberant with only a week to go. It's the getting ready and the going that are more onerous than they used to be.

Only six years ago, we drove out west, all around once there, and back. We travelled more than 12 000 kilometres in 30 days. We mostly camped. A year later we camped on our trip Down East. Even three years ago, we camped in Manitoba and North Ontario. I'm not sure that I could face that now. Maybe that last experience of camping in the rain in the wilderness is what lingers in my mind. I wonder?

Up until lately, I have been saying and thinking that I am still young in my head. How do I explain to those younger that you still feel, more or less, the same at sixty as at twenty-five. Today, I seemed to be shifting gears, reevaluating. But on the way back, after about ten kilometres of cycling, I began to reconsider once more. I was feeling perkier and younger already. I remembered that I hadn't felt terribly well for a few days, but I was feeling a little more like my old self today. So, perhaps, it had been more of health, or lack of health, aberration than an age-related issue?

Perhaps, I don't feel that I have aged five years in the past one. Perhaps, I have only aged one year.

That would make me 26 ... where it counts.