ITCHING AND SCRATCHING

The Great Itch of Growing Older

There are few things in life as maddening as an itch you simply can't reach.

When we were younger, scratching an itch required little more than bending, twisting, or contorting ourselves into positions that would now require a team of orthopedic surgeons afterward. Today, however, we first have to locate the itch, determine whether it's on the left or right, above or below, and then begin the expedition to reach it.

Somewhere between age twenty-five and eighty-five, our arms mysteriously became two inches shorter.

Fortunately, human ingenuity has come to the rescue. There are back scratchers made of bamboo, plastic, metal, and wood. Some telescope like a radio antenna. Some resemble tiny bear claws. One probably has Bluetooth capability by now.

Most of us have one hidden in a drawer, another beside the recliner, and perhaps a spare in case the first one isn't long enough.

Then there is the universal senior solution: "Could you scratch my back?"

It's one of the few requests that can instantly turn a dignified adult into a five-year-old.

"No...a little higher...no, lower...left...other left...right there!... Oh, don't stop!"

The poor volunteer usually gives up long before the itch does.

As we grow older, however, I've begun to think that the back isn't the only place we itch.

Many of us develop an itch for companionship.

An itch for conversation.

An itch to tell stories we've told before.

An itch to feel useful.

An itch to laugh until our sides hurt.

An itch to know that someone notices when we don't show up for dinner.

Those are harder to scratch.

The funny thing is that many of us insist we're perfectly happy being alone—and often we are. Solitude has its pleasures. We can watch whatever we like on television, eat dessert first if we choose, and nobody complains if we fall asleep halfway through a movie.

But every now and then, another kind of itch appears.

A knock on the door.

A friendly face at breakfast.

Someone who remembers your favorite joke.

A neighbor who asks, "How are you doing today?", and actually waits for the answer.

Those little moments don't cure every loneliness, but they certainly relieve the itch.

That's one of the quiet blessings of living at Merrill Gardens. Around every corner is someone carrying an invisible back scratcher. Sometimes it's a smile. Sometimes it's a shared meal, a choir rehearsal, a card game, or simply sitting together while saying very little at all.

Perhaps that's what friendship really is: a way of scratching the places in life we can't quite reach by ourselves.

So if you see someone sitting alone, stop for a minute. Share a story. Tell a joke. Offer a smile. You never know what invisible itch they may be trying to reach.

And if all else fails...

Keep a good back scratcher handy.

You'll probably need it tomorrow.

William Jame Spriggs