Signs of getting older are all around me.
My cat, otherwise known as Cranky Kitty, needs a series of rising steps in order to get into her chair. Now, this is not all bad because she doesn't jump easily any more and that has prevented quite a bit of cat-hair accumulation on the furniture. Some part (or parts) of my body and/or brain tell me on a daily basis that I am no longer anywhere near the decade of being in my thirties. I might as well take out a giant billboard on Times Square, in New York City, on which to chronicle the little and not-so-little ways I hear my body speaking to me.....mostly in complaints. The good news about the brain not being quite so able to do mental gymnastics is that I can easily forget where my last "twinge-in-the-hinge" was.
Lately, I've realized that certain geriatric modifications around the condo could be useful to my body. I'm already accustomed to having step-stools in many rooms so that my vertical shortcomings (pun intended!) can be overcome by me instead of calling out to Capt. SO. These little stools come in handy on a daily basis.
The irony of geriatric modifications is evident, however, in the construction of the condo. Our condo's builder prides himself on including, as standards, specific construction characteristics that are desirable for a certain age-range. These standards include, but are not limited to, door handles that have a lever to push down instead of the turn-the-knob type of handle; wider-than-standard door frames that will accommodate wheelchairs, grab-bars in each shower/bath area, and slightly higher bathroom and kitchen countertop heights.
It is the slightly-higher-than-standard countertop heights that are the current source of irony in the life of my complaining body. Granted, these bathroom countertops are ideal for not having to bend down to pick up the necessary tools for getting a person ready, whether in the morning or going out for the evening. But.......I don't believe any designer who suggested the countertop height for people over sixty took into consideration the need to get a foot up on the countertop in order to do any podiatric work on my lowest extremity.
This conundrum is further confounded by the fact that my eyes do not quite work as well as they once did. My contacts are great for seeing far away, but they do not work well for close-up work. In fact, in order to read text, I need either really large print, exceptionally bright light, ungainly long arms, a personal assistant who will hold a book about two feet away from my eyes, or all of the aforementioned. If I want to do close-up work, I must remove my contacts and don my eyeglasses. But.....since my eyeglasses have the blended lenses for bifocals, I usually end up looking under my lenses, which is the same as wearing no corrective lenses at all, which, then, necessitates having my foot very near my eyes if I want to trim a nail or see where to apply nail polish. Simply bending over from the waist does not get my eyes near enough to my feet, hence the need to hoist my foot up on the bathroom countertop.
This is not as easy as it once was.
There was a time when I could will my leg to move, from the hip, in an upward motion that would actually get my foot to the counter. Now I have to grab the foot by one hand, physically pick it up and place the foot wherever I need it to be in order for my eyes to see so I can work on the foot. My hips still cooperate with this process but the day may come when the hips are not happy to comply, either, in which case I would have to install a specially-designed, hydraulic foot lift, or hire a personal foot-assistant........or a cabana boy......or a puppy that would grow into a large, service dog.
Which one would Capt. SO prefer? Hydraulic foot-lift, personal foot-assistant, cabana boy or puppy?
Ancora imparo
