Do I take the air conditioner out of my bedroom window or do I leave it in until the end of the week? The really hot days seem to be over, but temperatures are still high. I’m not one for much cool air unless it’s natural. So I generally keep the windows open until it’s time to turn on the heat or unless rain is blowing in the windows.

I should have taken pictures of the four huge piles of cuttings and wood from the lilac trees. I don’t think anyone would really believe an old lady with a chainsaw made those piles. I’m not really an old lady – only in my middle 70’s. Parts do seem to be failing, but I can still lift up to 40 pounds and carry it up stairs. I used to be able to lift more, but my strength has faded some.

I had loaned a friend my tiller, but it came back dead. She’s offered to buy me a new one, but I’m going to take mine apart to see if I can fix it. That’s another thing I do – take things apart to fix them. I used to do a lot of the maintenance on my cars, but now I leave it to the pros. Too many electronic connections now.

I had to give up my baby and find something less manual to drive. I had a 1998 Saturn that I got new and had to give it up at 251,708 miles because my shoulders and knees don’t like certain positions required to shift and steer a manual car. While I can still lift heavy things if I need to, certain body parts would lock up in the Saturn and I’d have trouble with turning to look over my shoulder or moving my foot to the needed pedal. To say nothing of trying to steer out of tight spots.

Now I have a pre-owned – what a great term for a used car – 2013 vehicle with bells and whistles and lots more bits to go wrong. So far, it’s an okay drive, but compared to my Saturn, it’s a tank. It’s taller, higher off the ground, longer and wider, and almost too big for my garage. I have to be very careful to watch my mirrors when I go through the entry.

Enough complaining. Upcoming projects include teaching more 6th graders how to sew and supervising a group of 8th graders in sewing pillowcases for a charity. There are also my 3 classes for members and the public at the maker space. I find I have more fun teaching the kids than the adults, but I wouldn’t want to be a full-time teacher of either.

I’ll try to remember to take pictures. You can tell I’m old by the fact that I don’t record every waking moment of my day, or what I do, or eat.

In the last two weeks, I have been called “old” more than once. Not directly, mind you. (Okay, that’s an old people phrase.) But old? I’m only 76. How can I be old?

When I look in the mirror, I don’t see an old face. I see a face with some maturity, some lines, a bit of sag, but not old. My hair is 90% grey and not as curly as it used to be, but I’ve been going grey since I was in my early 30’s. Parts ache, but I’ve been hard on this body. Sprained wrists and ankles. Broken bones. Scars from all the stupid stuff I did as a kid growing up with mostly boys as playmates.

Arthritis seems to be invading so I have trouble with my hands and knees. My memory is still sharp. My memory is still sharp. Okay, I did that on purpose. But yesterday, I was referred to as “that old woman.” Say what?

And I have an appointment with the Geriatric Fall Clinic. Old people go there. I can’t just go to the regular Fall Clinic. And I keep hearing, “people your age…” I mean I use the “people your age” line when I’m telling my son he needs to consider his life choices, or telling a child they’re too old to be behaving that bratty.

But I’m not old. I know people a lot younger than I, who behave as though they’ll fall over dead tomorrow – they’re old. They shuffle along like 90 year-olds and complain about “young people”. They eat at old people restaurants so they can stuff bags with food from the all-you-can-eat buffets. They know where every restroom is in a three state area and they drive 10 miles under the speed limit. That’s old.

I know I’m getting there. Almost everyday I get an email – “so-and-so from our high school class has died” or the euphemistic “has passed.” I think of it as I failed to die. I’ve outlived a lot of friends, classmates, and relatives. In a way, it’s not fair. There won’t be anyone left to go to my funeral in 30 or 40 years from now. Or tomorrow, which ever comes first.

I’m not really concerned with my life ending. No one gets to live forever. When I go, I’m gone. Fast or slow. And on that happy note, have a good day.