On Being 45

I turned 45 this year.

They say age is but a number but 45 is playing with my mind.

Milestones in my life are marked either by a number or an event and since this post is about turning 45 this past February, allow me to recall some milestone ages.

Sixteen was a big number for me. Sweet Sixteen we called it back then.  Whatever else was going on in my world that February, turning 16 made everything beautiful.

My mother had this tradition of throwing a birthday party to mark every year of my birth and I had visions of a celebration like no other for my 16^th birthday. Reality was, however, that there would be no debutante ball for me as that was beyond my mother’s very meager income. In the end, my dress was homemade and the neighbourhood hairdresser did my then shoulder length hair in a Farah Fawcett ‘do. The food was plentiful and I was expecting the love of my life – at that time – to be there. He was truly tall, dark and handsome; a football player and a heartbreaker.

And that he did. Errol broke my heart that night by not showing up to open the dance floor with me. Thirty odd years later who actually shared the first dance with me is a distant memory.

That was the last official birthday party my mother would throw for me and funny enough it was to be the last age milestone celebrated in such a fashion for a long time.

1995 – My thirtieth year on this Earth. There was no party to mark this milestone. Other things had taken on greater significance and stopping to celebrate my birth was not one of them. Raising a 7 year old child, career building, trying to stay afloat financially in an economy that was tanking faster than the Titanic and grappling with my identity were far more pressing concerns than a night on the town.

The next big anniversary should have been my 40^th birthday but for several reasons it was my 41^st that was celebrated with a party – the first in years.  I had heard many times before that 40 were the “freedom years.”  I had no greater sense of freedom, however, on February 15, 2005. My age felt like a burden that year as my life was nowhere I had imagined it would be and in an age-conscious North America I wondered whether things would change for me anytime soon as an immigrant in Canada.  

The bright spark of my 40^th year, however, was my daughter’s 18^th birthday in October 2005, which was marked with a befitting celebration including a well-laid table that would have made my mother proud.  

Looking back, my 40^th year was in fact the beginning of the freedom years although I could not see it then. While I deeply grieved my daughter moving out from under my roof less than a year after turning 18, it is now clear how that was masterminded and why.

And now I am 45; the midway point between the beginning of freedom and the big 50.

A preacher man asked my permission recently to tell a portion of my story. He was intrigued by the fact that my life seem to be going so well after a great big fall and yet I am still asking the question – Why? The point of his sermon, it appeared to me, was life is a big question.

My favourite preacher man, Bishop John Shelby Spong, put it best – “You are the question,” and at this midway point in my life,  I have been wondering what is the question I am posing  right now.

“Cutie, what do you want to be when you grow up?” my mother would ask me and the answer was never far from my lips. “A doctor,” was my eight year old answer because that is what my neighbor Janice said was her future career.   Gracie and Janice were my next door neighbours for years and whatever they did was what Cutie was going to do.  They went to St. Hugh’s High School and so it was my first and second choice for higher education. Janice became a medical doctor and Grace earned a degree in an associated field but I eventually asked a different question – why can I not be a leader of my country and help women come into their own?
That took me to Eastern Europe to study and where I became a mother. Since that time, the question has adapted and changed so many times – each time taking me along paths I could never have imagined.  It took me through the civil service of Jamaica, supporting and working for political campaigns, quasi—diplomatic position in CARICOM, serving a religious organization, migration to Canada, theological studies and hospital and prison chaplaincy.  Yet, with every adjustment of the question there was great learning and tools for my survival kit.

Now at 45 years old, a Canadian citizen, living in Southern Alberta, a nice house, married, two dogs, a brand new truck, a career with the federal government and doors that keep opening, you would think that question time was up.

Far from it. But 45 feels to me like an “in the meantime” moment, a place of clarity and visioning my future as an aging parent and friend to my daughter,  a loving but firm Grandmother, a Lover and Companion to my husband,  a compassionate Elder to strangers and a productive Senior Citizen.

I must admit that I am not totally comfortable with these emerging identities. There is a part of me that wants to fight the aging/maturing process.

My long legs still look gorgeous in shorts and shorter skirts. My ankles are still slender. My skin, although needing more frequent application of moisturizers and lotions, is still taut and my neck is not sagging.  No, I would not chance wearing a bikini on the beach but my butt still looks good in tight pants, especially in those seamless undies from La Senza.

My heart, however, is in a different place.  No longer do I need the excitement of a big party, the spotlight or a campaign trial. The few close friends that form my inner circle and who are part of my extended family are enough. My home in the country is my sanctuary (if my husband would ever finish the renovations).  Angello, who like me is aging, and Marley – the puppy, literally warm my heart when they greet me at the end of a day’s work with kisses. 

The only thing sweeter than talking to my daughter at least once a day and hearing her call me “Mummy,” even at 22 years old, will be to hear the words “Grandma,” from her offspring(s). 

Robert, my husband, has given this leg of the journey meaning. He came into my life when a nunnery was looking like a fantastic idea. Trials and challenges we have but the beauty of finding a partner at 40+ and one who has travelled their fair share of dark and winding roads, is that there is no need or place for bull.

Henri Arneil it was who said “To know how to grow old is the master-work of wisdom, and one of the most difficult chapters in the great art of living.”

I have five years to learn this art. The next age milestone for me will be 50 and if I am blessed with the breath of life to see that day and the ability and capacity you my friends will be invited to the gala!

Blessings,

Claudette

Aging, Marriage and the US Elections

My skin has been itching so much that I began to wonder whether my two dogs had contacted fleas – somehow – and passed it on to me.

I say somehow as it has been a while since they have been out in the grass for a good long run. My work and commute schedule is as such – all of twelve hours a day – that by the time I get home at nights all I want to do is plop on my couch and catch up with the United States election campaign. Once caught up, I haul myself to bed for a few hours before the alarm goes off at 4:30 a.m.

After spraying the dogs, the couch and in fact the entire condo with ‘flea and tick spray’, although my brain was telling me that that was not the issue, the itching moved to my head.

Looking at my almost bloodied fingers after what felt like 10 minutes of intense digging of my scalp, it was clear to me that something bigger than fleas was my trouble.

“Hey,” I said to the nurse at work, “you must know this…what can I do to stop tearing my skin off?” She had this amused look on her face as I pulled up my sleeves and raised the end of my skirt to show her my arms and legs. Just before I ripped the blouse off my back to expose my red skin, she laughed and said, “It’s dry skin my dear.”

Dry skin? No it could not be that simple, after all I use Dove Pro-Age Skin Cream on a daily basis. Furthermore, my scalp felt like it was peeling off too and I also use Dove Pro-Age Conditioner everyday!

My nurse-colleague stuck to her prognosis, saying that the air in southern Alberta is much drier than in Edmonton, particularly in the valleys where I work, and so my skin was drying out. Her advice to me was to lather my body with cream immediately after a shower and that should relieve the problem.


“What about my head?” I thought.

I knew she was probably right – that the weather conditions had something to do with it but I was not entirely convinced. After all I spend 7 – 8 hours a day in the valley, commute there five days a week and spent the other 2 days in Calgary. Nevertheless, I tried her suggestion and for a few days felt some relief.

Then I noticed something else. And the truth finally sunk in.

My body, my skin is aging.

This recognition hit me in the same place where my most inspired ideas always do – in the shower. As I reached forward to regulate the water pelting me, the truth of my itching crisis dawned on me.

Years ago, a senior citizen who hated to be called that shared that her doctor had told her to stop or reduce the amount of hot water she used when showering. She also had to change her bath soap to goat milk soap as her skin was too ’mature’ to process the perfumes, etc of regular soaps.

At almost half her age, 43, my own skin was going through the ‘maturing’ phase. Mid-life is proving to be quite a handful – and hard on the pockets. Now, not only am I dealing with the mid-life spread of my tummy, my skin is shriveling before my eyes.

I guess this is the type of thing that causes mid-life crisis in some but for me it is another curve ball to deal with. And I am not going to rush out to buy a basket full of anti-aging products – what’s the point. Age we must. Youth is totally over-rated.

In the words of Marya Mannes, author of More in Anger,

“the process of maturing is an art to be learned, an effort to be sustained. By the age of fifty you have made yourself what you are, and if it is good, it is better than your youth.”

Marriage

As my skin dries and my investment in Dove Pro-Age Skin Cream doubles, my hair grays, my battle with 'the spread of the midriff' rages on, in other words as my maturing process deepens, Robert asked me to marry him.

Why would he want to do that? There are so many young, smart, thin women out there who would be very attracted to what he has to offer. Why me?


“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met – inside and out,” he declares.

I could not help but remember this poem that counsels women to “Find A Guy Who Calls You are Beautiful Instead of Hot,” that was shared with me while I was dating. At first read, you might think it was written by some loser who could not get a date much less someone for a long-term commitment.

Upon second or thirtieth read, if you are like me, you begin to realize the greater point of this poem. I have been married and/or in long term relationships that were brought about by the notion of ‘hotness’. What I have come to learn at the end of relationships formed on this basis is that when the fire ebbs, it takes great inner strength to rekindle it.

After the huffing and puffing – is there material for a conversation? Is there strength of personality, character and wisdom to cope with the long, cold and very dark (winter) nights? Do you know and like the person who you are enough to be happy in your own company? Can you smile without reason, smile without the help of a drink, smile at the sound of your lover’s snores? Is caring for your neighbours something important to both of you – be it with money, a kind word or a shoulder to lean on in time of trouble? Can you talk through your differences without ill-will and harbouring of resentments the next morning?

These are but a few of the test of ‘meaningful’ as far as I am concerned. To hear Robert say that to him I am beautiful “inside and out” – is heart stopping as it means finally I have found someone who does not need me to hide my light.

I knew that I would say “yes,” looking down from the podium into his proud eyes as I give a speech; as I caught those green eyes looking back at me across the room as he interacted with a transgender woman; as I heard him saying he would make a 5-hour drive to see my daughter through her crisis.

What the last 28 years of challenges, turmoil and even despair has taught me about marriage, as Joseph Barth notes, “is [my] last, best chance to grow up.”

The U.S. Elections

Speaking of growing up, if you are like me and glued to the television every day and checking CNN.com every chance you get to see what is the news about the Presidential Campaign in the United States, you will recognize that the States is in another growth phase in its history.

And I am not talking here only about the historic nature of Barrack Obama’s candidacy or even Sarah Palin’s. While those are important milestones, as well as Hilary Clinton’s run in the Primaries, the real growth has to do with the choices facing that country.

Here we have what is often described as the most powerful country in the world challenged by two wars on its hands, the most serious meltdown of its economy since the Great Depression and a rapid diminishing of its influence in the world.

The decisions facing the US electorate are not unlike those aging (or maturing) women like I have to deal with on a daily basis in different aspects of our lives.

As the glory days of our youth rapidly recede into the past and we do battle (wars) with our teenage/young adult children (India and China) and try to fully capture our place on the economic sphere, i.e., careers, retirement funds, health care, the landscape changes.

It is no longer okay to approach life with a “business as usual” attitude. We have to adapt to new technologies and the fact that those we consider out juniors (India, China, Russia) are gaining strength, have a modified vision of the future and are not shy about letting their voices be heard.

As maturing people, we can either reject these ‘newbies’ out of hand, yet realizing that times are changing we try to present our arguments with the help of Pro-Age Skin Cream (Palin). Or, we can embrace the changes; negotiate our place at the table as we work with the new kids on the block to shape this new world.

Whether Obama is the best voice for change and hope in this new world I do not portend to know for sure. What is obvious to me though is that the US is maturing (aging) in terms of its influence and status in the world.

And like me, no amount of moisturizer is going to turn back the hands of time. Neither is dressing up in mini-skirts and daubing my face in make-up going to fool anyone that I am not fast approaching 50 – which is what John McCain seem to be wanting to do with his choice of Sarah Palin as his running mate.

What is clear is that on November 4, 2008 the world will have a clear sign as to whether the United States will be a gracious or a vicious old lady.

Blessings,


Claudette