Sooner or later we all fall victim to the “Old Switch”

Greetings from the Ridge.

My grandmother called it an “old switch” and she swore it was a real thing. She’d tell me, “I swear, Freida. Everybody’s got this little hidden switch somewhere along their spine and at some point God will reach down and flip it on and bang! . . Overnight you become an old person.” Grandma firmly believed that growing old was not a process but an immediate event like leg cramps that come with no warning what- soever. She’d tell me, “I kid you not. One night I went to bed a healthy middle-aged woman capable of about anything I put my mind to and the next morning I went to lift my feet out of bed and somebody had filled them with lead and tied them to the bed post. I became an old lady in one fell swoop.”

Grandma was prone to exaggeration, an improvement on Grandpa’s outright lying, but as the years have crept up on me I’m beginning to believe my grandmother’s theory. We really do have an Old Switch and somebody flipped mine several years ago.

Herb and I used to hop out of the car and flounce into the supermarket like a couple of eager and well-toned kids. When you see us get out of our car now and make our way up what seems like a steeper grade than I remembered, we resemble two old Holstein cows meandering our way into the barn to be milked. We used to walk a straight line and now we sort of wobble our way across the parking lot. Time was we’d wait for the traffic to clear. Now it waits for us to cross. And Grandma was right . . . it happened overnight. &nbsp;&nbsp;<ahref=""><spanstyl... 13px; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">To view more, please log in or subscribe to the digital edition.</span></a></p>