(Photo Illustration - MetroCreativeConnection - Letter to the Editor)

Looking back I always looked way younger than my age like my dad did. When I was born the age limit on the maternity floor was 12. The nurse told the doctor there was some little boy asking about Mrs. Chancey. The doctor had the nurse describe him, young, blonde, short. Doctor said, “Better let him in. That’s Mr. Chancey.” When my dad came to pick me up for lunch at my first job, one of the ladies I worked with asked if he was my brother. He died at age 66 and he had very few gray hairs. He still had that wavy blonde hair. Mom started turning gray in her 30s though. I was lucky for a long time to have some of his traits. It wasn’t until after I hit 65 that things started falling apart.

I have a couple of videos taken when I was 65 before all this back trouble started. In one video I am roller skating. Probably would have skated longer if I had not had a very embarrassing moment at my grandchildren’s school skating party. (Details of that story are for a more private audience.) Oh, what that mother must have thought of me when I fell toward her, with hands outspread. The other video, it’s of my 41-year-old daughter and me, line dancing with all the enthusiasm and energy of 20-year-olds. I love to show those videos and say, “It’s amazing what 7 or 8 years can do.” I’ve gotten responses from, “That’s you!” to “You two really could move.” I was shocked when my body starting catching up with my numerical age.

Here I am at 73. I wore three quarter sleeves most of the winter. I’ve been ordered by my doctors not to lift anything, not even a 5 lb. grocery bag for fear of breaking something or perhaps getting my spine even more twisted. Well, while my arms were taking it easy in sleeves that covered the top part, an amazing thing happened. All the muscle and tone to my arms disappeared and was replaced by the longest, flabbiest, things I ever saw. I used to hear my Mom’s friends say they wouldn’t wear sleeveless tops. I thought, how bad could it be? This evening while scratching my husband’s back in a sleeveless top, I caught a glimpse of this big bunch of flab slapping around under my arms. Now mind you, I only weigh 130 lbs. and the most I ever weighed in my whole life was 150, so where did all this flabby skin come from?

I’ve decided when dancing with my husband and he turns me around I’d better be careful or that flab might just slap me in the face and knock me out. Other than that, I’m not going to worry about it. If someone finds it distasteful, they don’t have to look my way. I’m still me, just spread out a little differently. Boy, wait until I tell my sister who is 10 years younger than me what she can look forward to in 10 more years. Excuse me now … “Hey, Angela! I’ve got something to tell you.”

My love to you,

Bonita (Bonnie) Eaton

Vienna