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.

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.

Old Age is Fatal

Image via Wikipedia

I was at the doctor's office this week for my annual check-up.



I didn't have any big problems, just a series of little things that I was wondering about.




Okay. Okay.

I was sure I had the symptoms of three different fatal diseases.



Anyway, the conversation went more or less like this:



"So Frances, what scary little changes have you noticed this year?"



"Well, Doctor, I've been getting cramps in the insteps of my feet occasionally ..."



"Very common," she said.



" And I have a weird ache in my back ..."



"Where?"



I pointed to my lower right side.



"Pulled muscle."



"I have an unusual patch of rough skin on my stomach."



She looked at it.

"That ? That's a ... (insert long incomprehensible medical term)."



"Leprosy!" I thought, lying there on the examining table picturing myself walking through the mall ringing a bell and shouting 'leper', while crowds of people backed away from me in horror.



She happened to glance at my terror stricken face.



"Also known as an Old Age Spot," she said with a wicked grin.



Jeesh.



I hate medical humour.

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