I'm So Pretty

I've been getting into the movies on a discount ever since I found out that everybody over twenty-one looks sixty-five to the teen agers who sell the tickets.

Unfortunately my wild and radical days of sticking it to the conglomerate media outlets by gipping them out of a tooney every couple of months are coming to an end.  In February I really will qualify for the senior's discount.

I decided to do a selfie in honour of the occasion.


PS

If this is not the way you see sixty-five year old women then you need glasses.

 

Elizabeth

Wet (Canned) cat food example (Fish flakes in jelly) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I dropped my 97 year old aunt off at the senior's

residence where she lives.

Just as I was leaving a little old lady with a walker

shuffled into my line of vision.

 

"Excuse me," she said,

"Do you know where I can buy some cat food?"

She was so terribly bent over that she had to twist

her head to look up at me.

 

I offered to take her to the store but you

mustn't think it was like Mother Theresa

eager to wait on the dying lepers.

In truth it was more like mean old

Eddie Haskell agreeing to drag the Beave

someplace for Wally.

 

Anyway I bundled her into the spy car and we

sped off to the little strip mall two blocks away.

I managed to get 'Elizabeth' out of the car and

opened her walker for her.

 

We started off but almost immediately she

stopped and looked down at herself.

 

"Double-u-tee-eff?" I wondered as I watched

her pull off her gloves on such a cold sleety day.

She carefully laid them on her walker and

then unzipped her long purple winter coat. 

 

I was in a bit of a hurry, but after so many years of

looking after my old Dad, I've learned that there is

no rushing the elderly.

 

I mean you can try it, but you'll be sorry.

 

They guard the little dignity they have left the

way the cherubim with the flaming sword guards

the Tree of Life.

 

So I looked on as she let go of her walker with

both hands and yanked her droopy pants up.

Then she slowly zipped the coat and

pulled her gloves back on.

 

It took a few more of these pit stops but  

eventually we reached the store.

 

***

 

I was at the counter fondling an interesting

green squishy thing and fingering all of the candy

I wasn't going to buy when it occurred to me that

she was taking a long time to locate the tinned

cat food.

 

"Do you know where the mumble mumble are?"

she said when I found her.

 

"Pardon?"  I bent down to try to hear better.

She raised her voice, "Do you know where the

mumble mumble are?"

 

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," I said, "I just can't catch what

it is that you are looking for."

 

"MENSTRAL PADS! 
DO YOU KNOW WHERE THE MENSTRAL PADS ARE?"

 

Jeesh!

She was 85 and bent over with arthritis but her lungs

were great!

 

And her reproductive system was apparently ageless.

 

"Are you sure you don't want something for..."  I waved

my hand trying to think of a tactful way to suggest what

I suspected was her real problem.

 

She shook her head with a frown.

So I sighed and we shuffled off to the feminine hygiene

department where she bought a 12 pack of maxis.

 

With wings.

 

Happy now, she twisted her head up to look at me.

"You can go now, dear" she said.  

"I don't want to be a bother so I'll walk home by myself."

 

Right.

And I could kick a few puppies on the way.

 

***

 

At the door to her building we waved at each other

through the glass and I saw that a bunch of her

old lady friends was eagerly waiting for her.

Each one bent over a walker.

 

"Please tell me she isn't bringing home supper,"

I prayed as I drove away

more fearful of the future than I had been a few hours ago.

Uncouth in the Country

Image via Wikipedia

This morning I was trying to get my elderly father out the door and to the dentist's office to get his few remaining choppers cleaned.

Going to town is a change in his routine, and therefore an occasion of great distress for him.

His  life is generally very quiet.

Oh we get visits from neighbours and relatives and the odd politician happens by during an election - but very few strangers turn up on our doorstep.  We don't even get Hallowe'en candy seekers.

So it was a surprise to hear a knock at about 9:30 this morning.

I was in the bathroom but I heard Flynn the dog start her 'stranger danger' barking and her  'stranger danger' house cat chasing.

I emerged from the bathroom with a mouthful of toothpaste and bumped noses with Dad who was waiting for me to come out and deal with the crisis.

Wielding my electric toothbrush with the extra soft bristles as a weapon, I headed for the front door. 

Struggling to keep Flynn back with one hand  I lurched through the door and found two righteous looking ladies standing on my porch.

One of the women waved a pamphlet under my nose that bore the words, "Are Humans Destroying the World" printed against a background of Hellish looking flames.

"Why yes," I put a hand on one hip and tapped my chin thoughtfully with my toothbrush.

 "I believe they are." 


I leaned over and studied the pamphlet  to make sure they weren't from the Green Party and accidentally drooled toothpaste on it.

Just then my father who was wearing his boxers but wasn't wearing his false teeth, started banging at the window, shaking his cane and gumming at me to hurry.

Without saying a single word, the Righteous nervously retreated from the porch and down the driveway.

"Thanks for dropping by," I called out to them.

But they never even turned around.

Jeesh.

Only the couth get saved I guess.

The Old John Deere

I am the main care giver for my elderly father.


My observation from this is that old age can, at times, be a frightening journey along a path of pain, depression and great loss.


This past winter was particularly hard on Dad as the doctor finally took his driver's licence away.

His anger enveloped the small house for months.




***



Dad has an old John Deere lawn mower.

It didn't work at all for much of last summer and by rights it should have gone to the junkyard a long time ago.


Yesterday I was puttering around in the garden, worrying about the overgrown state of things and the damage to the barn caused by the violent wind storm we had in April.

I was wondering how we were going to manage this summer when Dad limp/hobbled onto the porch and told me he was going to look at the lawn mower.


"Okay," I said, then thought, "Like that old rust bucket is going to start after sitting all winter."


I braced myself for another major meltdown.


A few minutes later the garage door flew open and my 87½ year old father came rumbling down the driveway on his John Deere, which, unbelievably, cut the grass as if it had rolled off the assembly line yesterday.

The moral of this story is this:

 You can take away a man's health,

 his friends and his driver's licence

but

as long as there's a breath in his body

you'll never get his old John Deere.

An Apology From (fairly close to) The Heart

On my sixtieth birthday, my friend, (who is six weeks younger than I am), said

.

I denied being in any such place but she kindly pointed out that:

from 0 to 9 years we are in our 1st decade

from 10 to 19 years we are in our 2nd decade

from 20 to 29 years we are in our 3rd decade

from 30 to 39 years we are in our 4th decade

from 40 to 49 years we are in our 5th decade

from 50 to 59 years we are in our 6th decade

and

from 60 to 69 years ... jeesh!

I took it well though.

As a 7th decade girl I began to blog.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Yesterday my friend, (who is still six weeks younger than I am and apparently way better in math), sent me an e-mail with a rather sarcastic comment.


I guess I have been taking a few people into the 7th decade before their time.

For some reason I had it in my mind that because a 59 year old person is in his or her sixtieth year, he/she is in the 7th decade.

Not true!

A 59 year old is still a 6th decade person.
















An older 6th decade person.






















Actually the oldest 6th decade person possible.

















But never mind. I apologize to all 59 year old persons.  And I will change the definition of a 7th decade girl on my next post.