When we retired south to Alabama in 1995, I was just mature — at least most of the time.

Now, nearly 30 years later, there is not a delicate word to describe the maturity level I’ve obtained. I’m just downright old and proud to say so, though elderly sounds a bit less harsh.

My path has been fraught with bumps in the road, disasters, calamities, challenges, trials, and experiences; it’s pretty obvious in close up photos just how rough some of those uncharted roads were. Not everyone has the privilege of growing old and decrepit, especially without a sense of humor.

Yesterday my age was showing. After returning from grocery shopping, carrying my purchases inside, and getting them stowed away, I was rightfully entitled to a break. I take as many as I can get away with.

After a bite to eat, I still had a big task ahead of me. To support a local fundraiser, I had been delivered a whole flat of strawberries, which don’t have a long shelf life.

I washed and trimmed the berries for freezer jam. The recipe called for crushed berries, so I untangled my potato masher, which is only their secondary purpose — the first being to block the drawer from opening.

Let me tell you flat out, the past couple of years have been rough on my journey through unpaved roads. With all the strength I could muster, I did my best to mash those juicy, red fruits; however, my best efforts were simply not going to get the job done.

After a lengthy search, I opted to try my immersion blender. It worked better than the potato masher but was still no picnic.

Finally I measured the fruit and added enough sugar to make everyone in my community a diabetic. It was tough to stir and blend the enormous amount, but determination won at last. I found and prepped my jars and lids.

What I really wanted was a warm bath and a good sleep, but I persevered. While preparing the pectin, I glanced around. What a mess everywhere!

As I blended the pectin mixture into the more-than-sweet berry conglomeration, the directions were to stir for three minutes or until there was no sugar granulation. I set the timer.

I filled the jars, wiped them down, had the best tasting fingers in the county (I know because I sampled them regularly), put the caps on, and created an assembly line.

This was repeated for two more double batches.

While thinking the timer must have been broken as I stirred and stirred and stirred, I glared at the clock.

I’ve been working out at the gym semi-regularly and have seen some improvement in my biceps and triceps. Note to self — get back to the gym tomorrow . . . and the next day . . .

As I continued stirring, and rotating stirring hands, I noticed that my shirt sleeve was moving. I gave it a quick glance followed by a long stare. The shirt was moving involuntarily as my triceps waved to me with each circular revolution my hand made.

If that wasn’t mortifying enough, I realized suddenly that I was sitting there being entertained as I watched these flaps do their “thang” while I grew more tired with every motion. Yes, I am easily entertained, obviously, but there was still had one more double batch to take care of.

What to do? I decided to hum a tune to keep the time of the flopping triceps.

And that is the reason I no longer wear sleeveless garments! It’s also one of the reasons that, since 1995, I’ve often stated that “when I moved back to the south, everything else did, too.” Another time I’ll tackle the belly and thighs issue.

Not that age has anything to do with any of this, but there is a whole lot of moisturizing going on! The lotions, foot creams, day time wrinkle (anti-wrinkle is what I’m looking for) cream, night time face cream, extra strength night time face cream, ultra night time, ultimate daytime moisturizing cream to infinity, and beyond.

Perhaps it should just be called wrinkle cream. I tried some ageless beauty foundation for mature women (they mean old) and honestly, it made every wrinkle, fold and crease deepen right before my eyes.

Maybe I should just stop putting anything on my face and neck, except good old Noxzema like the old days and simply enjoy living in my mind where I’m perpetually young and vital. Sounds like a plan to me!

Anyway, the 16 pints and 5 half pints of red jam will be a tasty reward for my determination.

Making freezer space is my next dilemma. I just may have to cook that nineteen pound turkey!