Who knew that knees were a thing?
I paid absolutely no attention to my knees for seven decades. I paid no attention to other people’s knees. I did not look at my friends’ knees, and I never once thought, “She’s got nice knees.” I didn’t check out my children’s knees. I didn’t gaze at my husband’s knees.
I’m not talking about sprains or sores or aches. Those I paid attention to. I was happy to consult on any knee problems. I did the exercises that the physical therapist suggested. I did the exercises that my husband got from his osteopath. I did all of the exercises. So have you probably.
But now, oh my God. Why did I look at my knees in the mirror?
My knees look like obese women’s faces. I don’t even feel related to them. They suddenly appeared like morose visitors from an unknown planet. What are you doing here?
I remember as a girl wearing knee socks and pulling them up almost to my knees. I never paid any attention to the dimples and lines, the soft curve.
What happened to my knees?
And my ears. I used to have tiny ears. Now they are normal – almost big. I know that they keep growing, and I congratulate myself on starting out small. Which is to say nothing about what I see in the locker room from those big-breasted women of 50 years ago. Heaven forfend. Suffice to say that little breasts do better in the long run in the dangling department.
Back to knees. Those little hinges are surprisingly vulnerable. I think of the Tin Man and his oil can in the Wizard of Oz – we could all use a bit of oil on those swinging gates.
I know people who have had knee replacements, like my friend Leah, who could star in a movie for most motivated knee replacement surgery star. She worked those knees till she almost got them back into place. She swam 100 laps and walked 100 kilometers and faithfully performed her physical therapy, and she is fine now. Chapeau Leah, as they say here in Israel, and I don’t know why. I guess hats off since I am educated enough to know that chapeau means hat in French.
I hope my knees will hold up, even if they’re ugly as fat fur dumplings. Please, knees. Keep working. Keep pushing me forward. Keep me going. Keep me dancing. Keep me cooking. Keep me laughing. Keep helping me bend. Because apparently that’s the other danger of age. You become somewhat inflexible. Stuck in your ways. Know it all. Incalcitrant. Now that’s a word you can’t translate into Hebrew.
Post-menopausal women can become bossy
Me especially. I seem to know it all, even when I don’t.
Sometimes I tell my kids what to do when they or their kids are sick and they ask: “When did you become a doctor?”
“Actually, I went to medical school without telling you,” I reply. Yeah right, although 40 years of mothering made me a doctor.
Of course, after living a few lives, I know a lot. A hell of a lot. Two languages. Two countries. One husband. A number of kids and grandkids. Friends. Jobs. War. Death. Loss. Operations. Falls.
You learn something in this life.
For instance, I know that angels don’t have knees and they can’t bend. They’re on one mission at a time.
And I also know that I am very young and that one day I will look back at being 70 and laugh because it was really the tail end of middle age. So if you’re 70, don’t worry about it. You’re just leaving middle age.
Don’t let anybody tell you you’re old. Keep going. Keep learning. Keep walking. Keep working out. Keep your knees strong.
But, please take a tip from me – do not look at your knees in the mirror. ■
The writer is the co-founder of the Koby Mandell Foundation. Her newest book, From Mac and Cheese to Matbucha: A Memoir With Recipes can be pre-ordered from Amazon or Gefen Publishing.