I think about myself a lot, probably much more than I should. But, believe me, becoming an 83-year-old woman involves a massive amount of changes in one’s body and also in one’s thought processes.
Normal activities for me require a lot more thought than they did when I was a young thing of 60. And I find it impossible to believe that it has been 23 years since I turned 60. What happened?
Actually, 70 was the birthday that had me looking in the mirror and suddenly realizing that I was in a new age group, but it still didn’t really sink in.
After that birthday, the aches and pains involved with getting older began to kick in, but mentally I felt the same and sometimes I could pretend that I still looked the same on the outside.
Turning 80 was a whole new ballgame. Bad knees and major wrinkles hit me at almost the same time and other changes set in.
Some of my habits and hobbies have become different during the past couple of years.
One of my favorite pastimes has changed and I never thought it would.
I have almost stopped reading books and this distresses me very much.
I had a love affair with books even before I could really read them.
Before I even started school, I would sit at night, with my pet duck resting on my feet and pretend I was reading.
After I learned to make sense of the words I was seeing on the page, I became a voracious reader.
At night after I was tucked in bed, I hid a flashlight under the covers and read through the night.
Even through my teenage years, I was never without a book in my hand, including while my parents and I would be eating a meal together.
Needless to say, this did not make my mother happy, but she never forbade me to bring a book to the table.
After I was married, I learned husbands are not as understanding as mothers. I discovered this when the book I was reading during dinner landed in the backyard.
I was a little more sneaky with my reading after that episode, but never really slowed down.
My average has been about three books a week and most of them are murder mysteries.
When Kindle came along, I was in heaven with the ability to purchase a new book on the spot with only a second or two wait before it popped up on my screen.
I felt pampered when Amazon stored the names of my favorite authors and would remind me by email whenever a new book from one of them would be published.
Last year, an early Christmas gift from my children bumped my reading to the side.
A new 55-inch smart TV introduced me to the world of Netflix, Amazon Prime and Hulu and I’m ashamed to admit I became a television junkie.
I have become enthralled by series such as “Downton Abbey” and addicted to British crime series.
I have three new books I haven’t yet read on my Kindle, and I am planning to turn off the TV some time soon and return to my first love — that is, after I watch the last episode of “Somerset Murders.”