My dear friend, Cathy Beaver, sent me a birthday card that made me laugh out loud. She included a very funny list of things that made getting to our age a great thing. I will be sixty-one three months before her, so here's a list for you readers, and especially Cathy, of my things that make old age not so bad. (I borrowed a few of hers, though, because they were important enough to be repeated.) Feel free to share your favorites about the joys of getting old.
1. Bathing suits. It no longer matters what you look like in a bathing suit. You're old, it's expected you'll look bad. So get a bikini if you want. Who cares?
2. Movie tickets. The senior discount makes my matinee movie ticket cheaper than a kid's ticket.
3. Senior moment. That expression excuses a multitude of mistakes. And you can't use it if you don't have some gray hair.
4. Large print books. We need them. If you are requesting a wait list book at the library, the large print books are faster to get and help you to skip merrily up the list.
5. Picking things up. Young people are eager to help old people pick up things they have dropped. It makes them feel good to help, and it saves grandpa/grandma's back.
6. Cataract surgery. I no longer need glasses to drive or to see (other than reading). Young people pay a lot of money for lasik surgery. My medical plan covered the cataract surgery with no charge to me.
7. Relating musically to kids. Young people will be fascinated to learn that many of the songs they were introduced to on Glee originated during our youth and we know all the words. They are awed to realize some of the songs originated before they were born.
8. Retirement. We can stop worrying about getting or losing a job. Workplace drama no longer keeps us awake at night. We don't have to work anymore if retirement gives us a pension. Mine does. :-)
9. Less shaving. I used to shave my legs every other day. As I've aged, maybe I do it once a week. The hair barely grows.
10. Off-season vacations. Dee and I took a cruise at the end of January. It wasn't crowded and there were very few children to run up and down the halls, take over the swimming pool, and push all the elevator buttons at once. The price was less than the cruise I took during the summer that was crawlin' with kids.
11. Comfortable clothes. When one is no longer dressing to seduce, it feels good to wear clothes. Low heels. Stretchy waistbands. Flowing blouses. Ahhhhh..........
12. No fear of dying young. 'Nuff said.
Friday, April 18, 2014
Monday, April 14, 2014
A Few Laughs
Time for something uplifting. Believe it or not, there are things in this life that make me laugh. It's about time I shared. I'm going to talk about some of the people I encounter in my life. I will try to keep them anonymous.
Remember my neighbors across the street? The ones I used to watch beating their bubble Christmas decorations into standing upright? Well, guess what? It's April, and those decorations are still lying dead in the front yard. I've known that people don't always take down their lights, but these are the first people I've seen turn their front yard into a bubble decoration graveyard. I laugh every time I drive past.
Last week at church, a woman who appears to me to be in fine health, asked me for recommendations for songs to be played at her funeral. I was flabbergasted. What advice would you give her? It was awful for me; all I could think of were Beatles songs. I Don't Want to Spoil the Party, So I'll Go. She's Leaving Home. Eleanor Rigby. Maxwell's Silver Hammer. I went with Amazing Grace, but she rolled her eyes and turned her back to me because everybody has that one.
Remember the guys in my Cane Fu class? They've gone from distrusting me to everybody wanting to be my personal tutor. Because I just don't do it right. And they're correcting me for my own good because they don't want me to get attacked and not survive. I have to stop hitting like a girl. Kicking like a girl. Walking like a girl. Last Thursday, I had one guy behind me swinging my arm like you might teach someone how to golf, another beside me telling me to follow his moves, and two on the sidelines giving directions. I've never been so popular. I've begged Terry at the Senior Center to try to get another woman to take the class and the pressure off me. No luck.
Friday, I tried a new class at the Senior Center, chair Zumba. I injured my knee a while ago, and regular Zumba cripples me for a few days after each class, so I figured I'd try that class. The instructor's good. I worked up a sweat, and my arms felt the burn. But my classmates, oh my classmates. There are a few women my age and above who work out in a way I'm used to doing. But the rest of the class is the happiest group of adults you'll ever find. They are mentally challenged adults bused in from a local assisted living center. I laughed the whole afternoon, not AT them but WITH them. They were so happy to have a new person in class, and they made sure to tell me I was doing good. One of them, a blind gentleman, heard the beginning of Tom Jones's Delilah and he just belted it out. He had a deep bass voice, and we gave him a round of applause. But the best part was Pharrell What-his-name's Happy. That's a powerful song. People who had been sitting there kind of flapping their hands, perked up to dance. Everybody was singing along and dancing with joy. As soon as the music stopped, they all sat down again, somber, like a switch had been flipped. But, I was still smiling. I love that song and its effect on people. I'm going to enjoy that class...I think.
Winter was rough on me. March wears me out; I hate that month. But it's April! It was sunny and warm today. Time to realize there is joy to be had in the simplest of things (and people).
Remember my neighbors across the street? The ones I used to watch beating their bubble Christmas decorations into standing upright? Well, guess what? It's April, and those decorations are still lying dead in the front yard. I've known that people don't always take down their lights, but these are the first people I've seen turn their front yard into a bubble decoration graveyard. I laugh every time I drive past.
Last week at church, a woman who appears to me to be in fine health, asked me for recommendations for songs to be played at her funeral. I was flabbergasted. What advice would you give her? It was awful for me; all I could think of were Beatles songs. I Don't Want to Spoil the Party, So I'll Go. She's Leaving Home. Eleanor Rigby. Maxwell's Silver Hammer. I went with Amazing Grace, but she rolled her eyes and turned her back to me because everybody has that one.
Remember the guys in my Cane Fu class? They've gone from distrusting me to everybody wanting to be my personal tutor. Because I just don't do it right. And they're correcting me for my own good because they don't want me to get attacked and not survive. I have to stop hitting like a girl. Kicking like a girl. Walking like a girl. Last Thursday, I had one guy behind me swinging my arm like you might teach someone how to golf, another beside me telling me to follow his moves, and two on the sidelines giving directions. I've never been so popular. I've begged Terry at the Senior Center to try to get another woman to take the class and the pressure off me. No luck.
Friday, I tried a new class at the Senior Center, chair Zumba. I injured my knee a while ago, and regular Zumba cripples me for a few days after each class, so I figured I'd try that class. The instructor's good. I worked up a sweat, and my arms felt the burn. But my classmates, oh my classmates. There are a few women my age and above who work out in a way I'm used to doing. But the rest of the class is the happiest group of adults you'll ever find. They are mentally challenged adults bused in from a local assisted living center. I laughed the whole afternoon, not AT them but WITH them. They were so happy to have a new person in class, and they made sure to tell me I was doing good. One of them, a blind gentleman, heard the beginning of Tom Jones's Delilah and he just belted it out. He had a deep bass voice, and we gave him a round of applause. But the best part was Pharrell What-his-name's Happy. That's a powerful song. People who had been sitting there kind of flapping their hands, perked up to dance. Everybody was singing along and dancing with joy. As soon as the music stopped, they all sat down again, somber, like a switch had been flipped. But, I was still smiling. I love that song and its effect on people. I'm going to enjoy that class...I think.
Winter was rough on me. March wears me out; I hate that month. But it's April! It was sunny and warm today. Time to realize there is joy to be had in the simplest of things (and people).
Thursday, April 10, 2014
In Memory of My Mom
I did it again today. I turned to the telephone thinking I'd call Mom. It was a very brief lapse of reality, but it surprises me that seven years later, I still want to call my mother and discuss something with her. We rarely had really long talks, just lots of snippets whenever the need to chat presented itself. Towards the end of her life, I could barely talk to her. My throat thickened when I tried to get the words out. I remember one perfectly beautiful early evening when we should have had a talk. My sister and the girls were out. I was sitting by her bed in my wheelchair (my leg was broken). The outside door to her room was open. It was spring. The air smelled sweet. As the sun set, it warmed the room. I heard children playing across the street. Mom was in and out of consciousness. She wanted her dog to sit on her bed, but Mitzi was like me. She was sad, and no matter how much she loved my mom, she would not get on the bed. My Trixie came to the rescue. She snuggled up on Mom's side, and didn't move. I'd never seen her so subdued and gentle. Mom and I both petted her. I kept sitting there thinking, Say something! Now! You might not get another chance. But I couldn't talk, and I still feel incomplete (guilty?) for all of the things I wish I had said. But we communicated in a way. When our hands touched as we petted Trixie, we'd stop petting and hold each other.
April 11 marks the seventh anniversary of Mom's death. What I could barely survive one day at a time has now been survived for 2,555 days. What follows is the eulogy I delivered from my wheelchair with a three year old Billie sitting in my lap, trying to make me not sad.
*************************
I used to get really frustrated with my students who wouldn't write because they didn't know what to say. They never shut their mouths in class, so how could it be that they didn't know what to write on a piece of paper? Well, I understand very clearly now because of the difficulty I've had starting this eulogy. I wanted it to be so right, so perfect, that I couldn't even start it. I wanted to make sure I did my mom justice. Finally, I realized I don't have enough words in me to do her justice. So, I'll share my memories with you and hope that you all will continue to share your memories of Mom with us.
My mom was a lot of fun. All of us have memories of the good times. I can remember sitting at the dinner table many times over the years, drinking coffee, eating dessert, and laughing so hard that I'd have to make a dash for the bathroom. Mom liked a party. She went on cruises with my sister and her friends...maybe some of you have heard the story about the nude beach or the scavenger hunt on the ship. Ask Helen, she'll be happy to tell you. The D'Apriles hosted the annual Labor Day party for many years. Dad would often be in bed long before Mom even got home. Probably the most fun my mom had was when she hosted the traditional Christmas dinner at our house. Fifty years of dinners! All the relatives came and families grew, but we always managed to crowd around the dining room table for dessert and family stories. No matter how much work it was, Mom was always happy at the end of the day as she tucked away the china and silver for another year.
My mom was full of love. Never did we experience it more deeply than when the little ones came into our lives. First came Lien and Laurel, Mom's unofficial grandkids. Mom babysat them, went to their school events, baked Laurel her apple cakes, and remembered them every birthday. When she finally had her own official grandchildren, she was thrilled. I remember the moment she and Reba met for the first time. It was at the D.C. airport. Helen held Reba as she introduced them and they just stared at each other, sizing each other up. After that, the whole family practically lived with my sister in Virginia. Billie came to live with us about a year ago. She made Mom laugh all the time with her funny expressions. Billie is a real waterbug, so Mom was well-known at the swim club. She took the girls there on many hot days and jumped in the water with them. Everybody knew Reba and Billie's grandmother and everybody called her by name, Bubbe. Each weekend when I'd call home, Mom couldn't wait to tell me the latest Reba and Billie stories.
My mother was generous. In the lean years when I was a new teacher, I never came home to visit without having gas money tucked in my pocket before I left. She took us and our friends to plays, out to meals, on day trips, and insisted on picking up the tab. Her generosity is a legacy left to her children. I know that I give freely in the way my mom did, as do my sister and brother.
My mother was strong. She was very ill these past few years, but she was determined to live for her children and grandchildren for as long as she could. Whatever it takes was her motto. We were really lucky to have doctors who saw Mom as a person. Dr. Morgan, Mom's dialysis doctor, was an angel in all of our lives. I was constantly awed by my mother's determination. I remember one time when she had to have surgery to open up a dialysis access that had clogged. Because my dad was seriously ill and she needed to be able to go to the hospital to be with him as soon as possible, she took the surgery without the anesthesia. Having recently had surgery myself for the first time, I can't imagine how she did it.
After my Dad died, Mom went to live with Helen, the girls, and my brother. We laughed about the Snyder Compound, but it was truly a wonderful living arrangement. Although the noise could be deafening at times, there was nothing more melodic to my mother than the sound of her children and grandchildren laughing. My siblings took great care of Mom. When she could no longer drive herself to dialysis, Glenn was up at 5 in the morning, three times a week, to take her. The care my sister gave her allowed Mom to come home at the end and spend her final days with her family. Whenever she was awake, Mom would say how glad she was to be at home. I cannot thank my sister enough for making that possible for my mother. The one thing Mom was concerned about was that we would take care of each other after she was gone. I think in taking care of Mom we learned to take care of each other. And maybe that's why she was finally able to let go.
We will miss our mother.
April 11 marks the seventh anniversary of Mom's death. What I could barely survive one day at a time has now been survived for 2,555 days. What follows is the eulogy I delivered from my wheelchair with a three year old Billie sitting in my lap, trying to make me not sad.
*************************
I used to get really frustrated with my students who wouldn't write because they didn't know what to say. They never shut their mouths in class, so how could it be that they didn't know what to write on a piece of paper? Well, I understand very clearly now because of the difficulty I've had starting this eulogy. I wanted it to be so right, so perfect, that I couldn't even start it. I wanted to make sure I did my mom justice. Finally, I realized I don't have enough words in me to do her justice. So, I'll share my memories with you and hope that you all will continue to share your memories of Mom with us.
My mom was a lot of fun. All of us have memories of the good times. I can remember sitting at the dinner table many times over the years, drinking coffee, eating dessert, and laughing so hard that I'd have to make a dash for the bathroom. Mom liked a party. She went on cruises with my sister and her friends...maybe some of you have heard the story about the nude beach or the scavenger hunt on the ship. Ask Helen, she'll be happy to tell you. The D'Apriles hosted the annual Labor Day party for many years. Dad would often be in bed long before Mom even got home. Probably the most fun my mom had was when she hosted the traditional Christmas dinner at our house. Fifty years of dinners! All the relatives came and families grew, but we always managed to crowd around the dining room table for dessert and family stories. No matter how much work it was, Mom was always happy at the end of the day as she tucked away the china and silver for another year.
My mom was full of love. Never did we experience it more deeply than when the little ones came into our lives. First came Lien and Laurel, Mom's unofficial grandkids. Mom babysat them, went to their school events, baked Laurel her apple cakes, and remembered them every birthday. When she finally had her own official grandchildren, she was thrilled. I remember the moment she and Reba met for the first time. It was at the D.C. airport. Helen held Reba as she introduced them and they just stared at each other, sizing each other up. After that, the whole family practically lived with my sister in Virginia. Billie came to live with us about a year ago. She made Mom laugh all the time with her funny expressions. Billie is a real waterbug, so Mom was well-known at the swim club. She took the girls there on many hot days and jumped in the water with them. Everybody knew Reba and Billie's grandmother and everybody called her by name, Bubbe. Each weekend when I'd call home, Mom couldn't wait to tell me the latest Reba and Billie stories.
My mother was generous. In the lean years when I was a new teacher, I never came home to visit without having gas money tucked in my pocket before I left. She took us and our friends to plays, out to meals, on day trips, and insisted on picking up the tab. Her generosity is a legacy left to her children. I know that I give freely in the way my mom did, as do my sister and brother.
My mother was strong. She was very ill these past few years, but she was determined to live for her children and grandchildren for as long as she could. Whatever it takes was her motto. We were really lucky to have doctors who saw Mom as a person. Dr. Morgan, Mom's dialysis doctor, was an angel in all of our lives. I was constantly awed by my mother's determination. I remember one time when she had to have surgery to open up a dialysis access that had clogged. Because my dad was seriously ill and she needed to be able to go to the hospital to be with him as soon as possible, she took the surgery without the anesthesia. Having recently had surgery myself for the first time, I can't imagine how she did it.
After my Dad died, Mom went to live with Helen, the girls, and my brother. We laughed about the Snyder Compound, but it was truly a wonderful living arrangement. Although the noise could be deafening at times, there was nothing more melodic to my mother than the sound of her children and grandchildren laughing. My siblings took great care of Mom. When she could no longer drive herself to dialysis, Glenn was up at 5 in the morning, three times a week, to take her. The care my sister gave her allowed Mom to come home at the end and spend her final days with her family. Whenever she was awake, Mom would say how glad she was to be at home. I cannot thank my sister enough for making that possible for my mother. The one thing Mom was concerned about was that we would take care of each other after she was gone. I think in taking care of Mom we learned to take care of each other. And maybe that's why she was finally able to let go.
We will miss our mother.
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