83 1/4 Years Old

So here I am sitting in my study chair …

… reading this delightful and heartwarmingly truthful novel which my friend Don loaned me the other day.

“It has really short chapters. You’ll enjoy it.” (Don obviously has keen insight into my attention span.)

The Secret Diary of Hendrik Groen, 83 1/4 Years Old is a hoot of a read, and like Don‘s insight, is spot on about old folks.

Hendrik lives in an independent living facility in the Netherlands. He is keeping a daily diary about his “adventures” there.

Here’s one diary entry:

Saturday, April 6

Old people are forever grunting and groaning. Sometimes it’s out of exertion or pain, but more often simply out of habit. I have made a small study of it.

The champion grunter is Mr. Kuiper, not my best friend to start with. Standing up, putting on his coat, picking something up, even if it’s just a teacup; everything is accompanied by a groan as if he’s being run over by a steamroller.

Once I started noticing, it began irking me more and more. That’s wrong. Don’t get annoyed, just wonder at it, my father used to say. Advice meant for others, since my father got extremely worked up about everything.

This morning I plucked up the courage and asked Kuiper what made him groan so when he sat down.

“Who, me?” he replied, genuinely surprised. For half an hour afterward he didn’t make a sound, but then, slowly but surely, the grunting started up again. It was like women’s tennis. There used to be very little grunting, as far as I’m aware, but nowadays I have to turn down the sound when watching tennis on TV. They’re doing it de-liberately. And it’s contagious: the men seem to be doing it more and more as well.

Meanwhile it’s left me with a problem. I’m starting to loathe Kuiper because I notice every little groan. And it’s not just him. Quite a number of the other inmates as well.

And worst of all, I can sometimes hear myself doing it too.

Oh my goodness can I relate to all that! And at 72 1/6 years old, I am finding something new to complain about every day. Just ask Robert.

Go ahead, ask him.

Blog Reader: “Does Neal grunt, groan and complain a lot?”

Robert: “Is Trump a criminal?”

Blog Reader: “What? Huh? Well, okay, but can you give us an example?”

Robert: “He tried to overturn the results of the 2020 election.”

Blog Reader: “No, no! I meant about Neal’s groans!”

Robert: “How much time do you have? Well, here’s a typical conversation when we first get up, after we take our blood pressure and take care of business but before our coffee.

……….

Me: “Good morning” as I give Neal a quick grandmother kiss. “How are you feeling today.” (This is always a dangerous question to ask.)

Neal: “Well,” exhaling deeply but not in a calm or meditative way, more like an old and disgruntled horse, “I can feel the morning cold in the arthritis in BOTH of my wrists today!” (Neal’s arthritis began several years ago after he fell in front of Claire’s—of all places—at the mall.

Neal: “And,” sighing deeply but not in a relaxing way, more exasperation-ish, like Biden after remembering how old he will be at the end of a second term, “the arthritis in my lower back is KILLING me. I’ll probably need to use my tens unit this morning, maybe the paraffin wax on my hands. IF I have time, that is.” (He’s retired, and the only thing he really needs to do all morning is empty the dishwasher.

Me: “Well maybe you should try to frame it all a little diff—“

Neal: Interrupting, “You know what? I think my face feels numb this morning.”

……….

(You get the picture, so I’ll just hush.)