The Downhill Slide

No one told me my knees would wrinkle. Certainly, they didn’t tell me it would happen overnight. This aging thing . . . this downhill slope . . . this over the hill syndrome so oft teased with black balloons and wheelchairs . . . this is a REALITY that takes some time to sink in.

Strange, isn’t it, that we don’t really KNOW we are going to get old? It’s not like we aren’t familiar with old people. But we do tend to hide them away in their little communities. Clustered together like grapes on a vine ready to be harvested and made into sweet wine. Maybe if those who had the wisdom of time lived more among us, we might really understand that the stooped aged one with the walker will eventually be . . . ME. Because not long ago, they too ran in buttercup fields, climbed trees, and fell in love.

Oh how we fight this downhill slide, particularly in our culture, perhaps. We long for a fountain of youth. And we think we find it - in liposuction, wrinkle creams, face lifts . . . but alas . . . those are simply new patches on old wineskins.

As I ponder all of this, I remember: I have stood on the top of Mount Sinai. I have seen the Promised Land. And that downhill slide is going to take me to glory. So get me a sled, I’m ready for the ride!

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