"It takes a heap of loafing to write a book." - Gertrude Stein

Today I read somewhere that a blog is like a DIARY. OK, fine. I've had this perfectly good blog lying around unread--mainly because only a couple of people are permitted to read it, and they, being congenital lurkers, mostly DON'T.

But I really want to talk about getting old. I don't think it's a terrible thing or a horble experience or a great pain. It's just different, and I really am noticing all the many ways in which it IS different. So, welcome, dear readers (both of you, when you finally get around to noticing that it's possible to read this, my "other" blog, without signing in.)

Here's my entry for today:

Took a statin drug last night per doctor's orders. She was giving me major grief about my high cholesterol reading. She actually called it my "wild and crazy cholesterol reading." Fine. I tried to tell her about my Aunt Mary's cholesterol reading. Aunt Mary herself said her cholesterol was "off the charts." So this, I said to the doctor, was a family thing and not just unbridled consumption of steak, eggs, bacon, ice cream, and....well, not cheese. I'm not so much of a cheese eater. I also mentioned that Aunt Mary, despite her terrifying blood chemistry, lived to the age of 95, compos mentis all the way. And her favorite drink was a Grasshopper, which was ladylike and delicious and had LOTS of cholesterol compared with, say, a Martini or a Rob Roy.

I didn't want to take the statin cuz at various times in the past 4 years, I'd already taken several others, and I am allergic to half of them. The last one didn't make me break out in a whole body rash, but it did make me feel crappy--tired and listless and achey, so I persuaded my Primary Care Physician's PA to let me drop it and take Niacin instead. With Niacin, my cholesterol bloomed, but I felt good. I can finally walk for more than an hour a day and not limp cuz of a sore hip or knees. I explained this to the doctor, and she said, "Just try it. Your cholesterol level is a big threat to your health." So I did. I took one little pink pill last night and woke up with no rash. Score! By 4 p.m., however, I realized that almost all day I'd been feeling tired, listless, and achey.

Do I want to take another little pink pill tonight? Unh unh. I can't even have a drink if I take it, and that bothers me, too. I know, I know...no drinking, not good for you, etc. But I like it. I like the taste, and I like the warm feeling I get in my poor allergy-scarred lungs. And I like the IDEA of it. St. Thomas Aquinas says somewhere in the Summa Theologica (I know...I read it myself--in Latin) that it's good for a person to get a little tipsy. Why? Because it makes a person humble. I'm not talking about getting tipsy, though. I haven't been really, truly blitzed since oh, maybe 1978 or so, when I made the mistake of going out after work with some coworkers to a farewell party for one of the typesetters who was moving to Chicago. I wasn't keeping track of how many beers I drank, but the woman who moved to Chicago gave me a ride home, and all the way I kept saying, "Gee...I forgot my bag!" "OK," she said, "We'll find it." The next day I managed to call the office about 10 a.m. and tell them I was not feeling well and wouldn't be in." They were filled with solicitude. "Oh, too bad. Take care." Then they added, "Viv wants to know if you found your purse." Hmmm....Damn. It had been in my lap all the way home. Embarrassing.

So...work. The reason I decided to write in here was because I read an online article today on "Living to 100." The first rule is "Don't Retire!" Ouch. I'm loving not having to go to an office any more, but I need to WORK, and the only work I've ever been remotely good at is writing.

Time unfolds itself differently now that I'm getting old. I'm realizing I don't have a lot of it--time--left. One of these mornings, I'm going to eat my very LAST bowl of oatmeal. Still, the days seem full and happy even if I'm just walking around town doing errands. But I should get cracking on the two books I've written that need REwriting. That's important, the article said. Keep doing what you've always done well. If I had a little truck farm or a vineyard, I could keep pottering around fixing holes in the hen house (yes, we had a tiny hen house once, Peggy...I made it myself with no knowledge of what hens need in a house) or pruning the vines and that. All I have are piles of paper upon which I've written many words. So I'll work on them.