At the end of October, I will be celebrating my 80th birthday. During those eight decades, I have forged precious relationships and made priceless memories. I’m planning to spend the next year tying up loose ends, getting my memoir finished and showing my loved ones how much they mean to me.
As a teenager, I knew I was never going to be cool so I decided to go for competence. I worked hard, concentrating on learning, getting things done and looking presentable. So far, so good.
Like most everyone, I encountered tough challenges and heart-rending losses. I’m my own worst critic and admit to making many mistakes and missteps, but with the support of a wonderful family and great friends, I’ve lived a full, satisfying life. Along the way, I learned that a powerful coping tool is laughter.
A good sense of humor can get you through almost anything. Even when things seem darkest, a joke or funny story that evokes a good chuckle can help connect with others and perhaps spark a little joy for them, too. No one is better at that than my husband.
People who know Jon appreciate that he is a gifted storyteller. It’s his most endearing quality; he’s made me laugh for 45 years. He sometimes pokes light-hearted fun at me, but being the punch line of his jokes is OK because I try not to take myself too seriously.
Here’s an example. One night, I spent a lot of time getting ready to go to a wedding. I really wanted to look my best, but it wasn’t happening. I moaned in frustration when he came to see what was taking me so long.
“Jon,” I explained. “It takes me twice as long now to look half as good.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
I appreciate it when he tells me that, but I’m not blind.
“You always say that, Jon, but when I look in the mirror, all I see is thinning hair, wrinkled skin and a saggy body. I could really use a serious compliment tonight.”
He thought for a moment. “OK, Wifey. You have perfect vision, and remember, the only way to have a hot smoking body at your age is cremation.”
I laughed so hard it made my mascara run.
Truth is, I’ve been forced to face the fact that now that I finally got my head together, my body is falling apart. Why, if I were a car, I’d be traded in for a newer model because every time I cough, sputter or sneeze, my radiator leaks and my exhaust backfires.
Hey, I’m not the only one. A friend and I were commiserating recently about our digestive issues while having a glass of elderberry wine. After her second refill, she confided that aging has made a definite difference in the romance department at her house. She said the night before she’d been in the mood and asked her husband to come upstairs to bed. He said he was sorry, but he didn’t think he could do both.
I tried to cheer her up. “There are some benefits to aging. Remember high school? Getting old means a lot less peer pressure. And we both have time now to spend in church. I consider it cramming for the final.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sure, but I refuse to think about dying or even assisted living. There’s no place like home, but my kids better not try to put me in one.”
We both giggled, but there is definitely some truth in jest.
On that same topic, last week I was at the library and overheard some seniors discussing their ailments.
“My arms are so weak I can hardly hold a cup of coffee,” said one.
“I know,” replied another. “My cataracts are so bad, I can’t even see my coffee.”
“Well, I can’t turn my head because of arthritis in my neck,” said a third. “And my blood pressure pills make me dizzy.”
A fourth chimed in. “Guess that’s the price we pay for getting old.”
They all nodded.
“Hey, it’s not that bad,” chirped a fifth. “Thank God we can all still drive.”
Oh, boy.
Turns out, jokes aren’t just about making people laugh. They’re about celebrating wild stories and hilarious memories. Like dancing to juke box music in a malt shop, tipping over an outhouse, cruising the downtown business district in your boyfriend’s souped-up Chevy.
One precious memory I have is doing comedy presentations at the logging camp. As Whiskey Jack and Cathouse Cate, we made audiences laugh while learning logging history. Remembering that makes me feel good all over. Laughter is indeed the best medicine.
Kathleen Marsh is a lifelong educator, writer and community advocate. She has published eight books, four on the history of Townsend, where she and husband Jon are happily retired on the beautiful Townsend Flowage.
