What Do People Over 45 Do for Fun?

At 69, Eileen Vorbach Collins responds to an ageist tweet.

Someone tweeted this question recently: “What do old people (45+) do when they get together?”  Lots of people responded with things like dancing, hiking, pickle ball, spelunking. Many said they were offended, but I got a laugh out of it. I tweeted my reply.  “Bless your heart, we sit around drooling on ourselves waiting for someone to change our Depends.” In case you don’t recognize it, that’s satire.

I didn’t mention that at 45, I was a single parent working full time to support my family. Or that at 49, I participated in a 500-mile bike ride from Fairbank to Anchorage to raise money for AIDS vaccine research. That at 55, I was learning to make a wet-exit from an overturned sinking kayak and taking swing dance lessons, and in my 60s, after retirement, visited Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon, became a Master Gardener, an award-winning essayist, and wrote a book.

“Bless your heart, we sit around drooling on ourselves waiting for someone to change our Depends.” In case you don’t recognize it, that’s satire.

I get it though. I once pinned that iconic button on my denim jacket— Never trust anyone over 30.  I was so much wiser than those old people. They knew nothing about art or music or good literature. Or sex.

These days, though, I’m not so active. A few months ago, I broke my ankle in a particularly ugly fashion, in three places, as I skipped out the door to join my neighbor working in the garden. I’ve learned never to take my mobility for granted.

Many of my friends, including those who are older, are more active than I. With my balance still affected from the fracture, I’m using a cane on uneven surfaces and can’t keep up with them. We stopped going dancing during the worst of the pandemic, but now, fully vaccinated, I’d like to take a little bit of risk and dance again. I used to meet a friend weekly for a long walk and coffee. Now it’s just coffee. And maybe one of those chocolate scones.

For a month after breaking her ankle in three places, the author was considered a fall risk. Now she is slowly becoming active again.

Walking on the beach, something I love, is especially difficult.  But I can now get there and enjoy a book, watch for dolphins, or wait for the sunset. I’ve finally had those grab bars installed in the shower.  I used to recommend them to all my patients when I worked as a home care nurse, and later as a case manager on an orthopedic unit. Even after a knee or hip replacement the patients would scoff at the idea, thinking they were too young for grab bars. I’d remind them that John Glen, the first astronaut to orbit the earth, came home unscathed, then suffered a serious injury when he fell in the bathroom. He was 43 when that happened. Just a few years shy of old as identified in that tweet.

I get it though. I once pinned that iconic button on my denim jacket— Never trust anyone over 30.  I was so much wiser than those old people. They knew nothing about art or music or good literature. Or sex.

After my ankle-shattering fall, I was discharged from the emergency room with a hard splint on an unstable ankle fracture. While still dizzy from the IV propofol, I was provided with a walker I couldn’t use, complements of Medicare, and told not to put any weight on that leg until I could see an orthopedic surgeon. Had it not been for my neighbors, waiting in my driveway to help get me into the wheelchair my husband was able to rent just before the pharmacy closed, I’d have had to sleep in the car.

Now there’s enough titanium in my leg to significantly increase my resale value. When I’m cremated, hopefully not in the too near future, I’m told the metal will be recycled. I’m wondering what it might be worth and whether I could donate it to the local animal shelter or the library. Or maybe my husband can have it made into a bracelet—a masculine piece of metal jewelry, with a tiny compartment for a bit of my ashes. At my advanced age of 69, it’s about time we start planning for the inevitable and I should have a say as to what happens to my plates and screws.

This is what people over 45 do when we get together. We dance and sing, bike and kayak, drink coffee and cocktails, walk on the beach, fall in love, and plant flowers, vegetables and trees. We have grab bars installed.

I was discussing just that with some friends recently. So, here’s my serious answer to that tweet: This is what people over 45 do when we get together. We dance and sing, bike and kayak, drink coffee and cocktails, walk on the beach, fall in love, and plant flowers, vegetables and trees. We have grab bars installed. We drape pretty fabric over a portable commode and make it a temporary end table, because one of us might need it. Sometimes, we talk about what they’ll do with our metal body parts when we’re cremated. And we laugh—sometimes at the young folks who wonder what we’re up to. They’ll have to figure it out for themselves. Like we did.