Never Too Old

Two Book Recommendations, And Some Important Advice For Anyone Who Is Aging

If, like me, you seem to be growing older every year, you might be wondering: Is it too late to take up something new?

A growing body of work—well, two murder mysteries I recently read—seem to promise an answer to this question at least for those of us who are murder-curious. Like everyone else, I eagerly anticipate every new version of Dexter. Who will he kill now? In what city? And how will the writers pretend to kill him off at the end of this season only to bring him back again for the next one? I can already picture a 90-year-old wheelchair-bound Dexter who still manages to wrap his victims in plastic before stabbing them with a knife hidden in his hand brake.

But as a woman, I can’t totally see myself in Dexter. So I went looking for murderers in literature who look like me.

As the kids say: BOOM!

In Too Old For This by Samantha Downing, Lottie is 75, just trying to live her life, playing bingo at church and being disappointed in her son. She has put murder behind her. Sure, people still get on her nerves, but she hasn’t reacted by killing anyone in years. Then her past catches up with her, and while she has no choice, she does have a hefty umbrella.

In Killers of a Certain Age by Deanna Raybourn, everyone deserves a peaceful retirement, including four women who worked hard as elite contract killers for their entire careers. And also, it’s just not a good idea to try to frame or murder retired contract killers. I mean, that should be obvious.

At first these two books did indeed make me feel seen. I have gray hair! My elbow aches when it rains! I remember when we had to get up to change the TV channel! Perhaps these books would help me explore a new hobby. I firmly believe it is never too late to pick up something new.

For instance, last year, I began swimming laps at the local Y. I have found there is nothing as relaxing and meditative as swimming back and forth in the cool blue water of an indoor pool. It’s best when I have the lane to myself. Sometimes I have to share, which is fine when it’s with a woman. But I do find that the men who swim at the Y tend to flail about so that I’m constantly avoiding their kicked out legs and errant arms crashing into my half of the lane.

I’m not saying this is what inspired me to read up on whether it’s ever too late to take up murder as a pastime. I’m not saying that at all.

I’m also now wondering why “pastime” isn’t spelled with two T’s. Wouldn’t that be logical? But even if I were taking up murder as a pastime, it would be hard to know who to hold responsible for the idiotic spelling “pastime.”

Anyway, swimming isn’t my only new interest. I also discovered in my 50s a passion for cats. I grew up in a family of dog people, or more accurately, cats-are-evil people, only to now find that I am in love with cats. We adopted Dusty and Dash two years ago, and it turns out I don’t really care if they are evil or not. The main thing is they are soft and cuddly and have enormous and ridiculous eyes. Dash has been known to spend upwards of an hour batting at the mail slot in the front door. He has knocked over the automatic cat feeder twice, and now we have to keep it weighed down with books.

Evil? Maybe. Adorable? Absolutely.

So I read these two murder mysteries about old ladies (defined as anyone older than I am right now) thinking they might lead to a new hobby. That’s what we educators call a “growth mentality.”

Alas.

My main takeaway is that murder is something you have to have mastered when you were young. In both books, the women have long histories as successful murderers well before they return to it in their 60s or 70s.

In this way, murder sounds more like driving. I didn’t start driving until I was 37, and I never really took to it.

Of course, there are other ways that driving is a lot like murder, which is why I no longer drive.

Certain things—like murder and driving—need to be mastered by the young.

But it’s never too late to get a cat.

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