Centenarians by the Hundreds

Thanks to the outrageously expensive miracles of modern medicine, our average life expectancy is increasing.  Not surprisingly, so is the number of centenarians.  But is it natural for humans to live that long?

Think of a '57 Chevy.  You can drive that baby for decades but at some point the odometer triumphs, things fall apart and you become a regular Car Talk caller.

Isn't it similar with our bodies?  I'm a '46 model and frankly, I need more than an oil change to keep me breezing down the turnpike of life.  Luckily, there's a multitude of replacement  parts available. New hips. New knees. New face.  Mr. Potato Head come to life.

A recent article in the New York Times said that people over 65 are a prime market for plastic surgery. The article said that in 2010, approximately 84,685 procedures were done on the geezer demographic. Apparently a professional can lift just about any body part the patient asks for. 

Me?  Breast lift, please. And while I'm under, check the jowls.  I long ago waved the white flag at that enemy called gravity but maybe it's not too late to sneak up on it with a bit of a nip/tuck.

What brought this on?  I was speaking with a man today who claimed to be 90.  Great posture.  Thick white hair. And his face?  My linen shirts have more wrinkles.  Boy, would I like a dip in that gene pool.

My Smart Phone Isn't

I wouldn't answer to Luddite, but I'm not a consumer of all the latest gadgets, apps and adult toys either.    Let me clarify "toys".  I refer to the technical kind, not those for the bedroom, but then what would a former Catholic school girl know about those anyway. 

While most people now have smart phones, mine is only of average intelligence.  While some smart phones are artificially intelligent enough to attend Harvard, mine would do well at a community college.  My phone would never be asked to hang out with the cool kids. It seriously lacks the necessary bells and whistles to be classified as smart. 

Don't get me wrong. I think cell phones are right up there in the "greatest thing since sliced bread" category. Sure beats hunting for a pay phone like we did back in the day. Can you even find a phone booth anymore?  Prediction: One will turn up on Antiques Roadshow ten years from now and it'll be worth an absolute fortune.

Keep it simple is my mantra. I want my phone to display all the little bars, connect after I enter a number, take a photo and let me send a text or two.  I don't expect it to do my laundry and melt s'mores -- although both might be apps I'd buy into.

Tea -- The Drink of the Civilized

If I ever become an ex-pat, I probably would survive well in England what with my being a tea lover.  I'm not quite as fanatic as they are, meaning I don't believe it to be liquid manna with heavenly properties. But I do enjoy a cup of the herbal brew.

Watch British movies or Masterpiece on PBS and you know the Brits solve what ails them by putting the kettle on.  Broke up with the louse?  Drown your sorrows in a cup of tea.  Bad news from the bathroom scale?  Tea has no calories so drink up.  Got a haircut from a visually impaired stylist?  Tea will make it grow back faster. 

Tea is the Brits answer to Prozac.  Tea -- the elixir that takes the edge off of life.  Throw a warm scone into the mix and life is good again.

Last week I was one with the Brits.  After an unusually frantic day all I wanted was to relax with, yes, a cup of tea. I brewed a pot of honey chamomile -- my favorite. After all, it is the tea Peter Rabbit's mother made after his episode in Mr. MacGregor's garden.   I poured it into my favorite cup -- also part of the ritual.  Tea in a styrofoam container or paper cup is utterly barbaric. It's right up there with champagne in a Flintstone jelly glass.

I took one sip, then another.  Cross my heart,  I swear I heard an "aaahhhhh".  Undoubtedly a chorus of stressed out cells thankful for a freakin' break.

Never again will I pooh-pooh the Brits and their miracle brew.  Now I get it.



 

School Daze

Now that summer is over, I see parents walking their kids to school in the morning.  To be more accurate, it's usually the kid scurrying behind the parent trying to keep up. The parents look harried. The kids look like they're heading to their doom. 

Now I was one of those weird kids who loved school -- except for math class which I had no interest in and therefore no understanding of or is it the reverse.   I never actually skipped to school wearing a broad "yippee, I'm going to spend six hours with the nuns" grin, but I didn't look as though my hamster just died either. 

Is it because these kids are going to public school?  I'd probably not have a rosy outlook either if I was subjected to a backpack search and  metal detector scan even though I'm only in the third grade.  Perhaps they're wondering what mystery meat will be served in the cafeteria  and why the giant sixth grade bully wants their portion too. 

Maybe they're worried the teacher won't believe that the dog really did eat their homework or anxious that an asteroid will land in the classroom or nervous that they'll be the last kid picked for volleyball during gym.

Now that I think about it, these kids have good reason to be grim.  And this is without knowing that the quality of their education is far from A+.

All we had to worry about in elementary school was the Red Menace.  Atomic bombs.  Our innocent classmates kidnapped, brainwashed and adopted by a Russian family.   Yes, things were simpler then.