Is Hell Going to Freeze Over?

I’ve always known this campus is a faith-based endeavor but it’s not an in-your-face kind of Christian denomination so it was easy for me to ignore what that would mean down the road after moving in, especially since there was no Litmus Test to pass to get accepted to live here. Had there been one, declaring that I’m an agnostic would not have put the odds in my favor for living here. I did check the box about not having a church or synagogue affiliation, so they knew that much about me.

At the first Monthly Residents Dialogue Meeting to iron out any issues we might be having the CEO started out by saying, “This is a faith-based campus so we’ll open with a prayer. It was a nice, generic prayer, nothing that could offend anyone of any faith (or no-faith). But---again!---I happened to be sitting next to one of the campus pastors who I met and liked at another event. (She's also signed up for the painting class. Do you think she's really after my soul?) At one point Ms Angel was asked to go up to the microphone and tell a little about her role here and I’m thinking, Ohmygod, am I going to get converted by her kindness when I least expect it? Will hell freeze over and I’ll turn into my favorite cousin?

My cousin is the most devoted do-gooder I know. She’s such a good and compassionate person always helping others, always charitable in her thinking. Same denomination of Christianity as I’m now living among and if I’m going to get converted at least I won’t be selling flowers on a street corner and pleasuring the cult leader when my younger sister-wives have their periods. Or am I getting the Moonies mixed up with the Mormons? Doesn't matter. I won't be pleasuring anyone but I make no promises about not selling flowers. I used to be a florist, after all and I could start painting them. One never knows.

The another woman at the meeting stepped forward to speak about a Champagne Reception being held, an inaugural event for women who “care about philanthropy, education, community partnerships and building social networks.” I will not be joining that group but it shows the caliber of women I’m surrounded by. Next week the campus is having what they’re calling, “A Week of Giving, with different opportunities to help the community every day.” I might have to join something that week to atone for a few sins I may have committed but conveniently can’t remember now…just in case there is a scoreboard with someone or something keeping track of such things. One day they'll be working at a place that makes Lavender Comfort Bunnies to give to kids going into the social services system and to dementia patients.

I finally got a neighbor living next door. She is on the Arts Council here and has been busy with a select group that is putting up original pieces of art in our public areas. I didn’t even know we have an arts council. When I asked how she got on the council she replied, “I was asked.” She’s not an artist herself, but I figure she must be somebody in our local art scene to be tasked with curating art for our walls. The CCC had our resumes` to glean life experiences from and I suspect her being asked also had to do with her checking the 'yes' box about wanting to do volunteer work on campus where I wrote 'maybe' in between the yes/no boxes. (Oops, I should have been more decisive.) The council's got a budget that has allowed them to buy some choice pieces from our city’s world famous Art Prize competitors.

I found out about this ‘secret-to-me' society by raving about the large painting that just went up in my hallway (image above) and my neighbor, Scottie-Dog’s Mom, said she chose it. Her Scottie reminds me of Levi---hence the nickname---and I was happy to see them move in last week. He’s a butter ball which seems to be true of all the dogs I’ve met here. One of them has a stroller that she rides the halls in and doesn’t get taken out until she’s across the street. That’s what I would have done with Levi to prevent accidents only before he died I was training him to ride in my grocery wagon.

There’s a Christian book club on campus and a secular book club. I joined the latter. And ohmygod if this wasn't a post loosely about spiritual growth and possible conversions I'd get snitty about something someone in book club at an earlier gathering. Let's just say that the Gossip Train has arrived on campus and The Engineer had a wicked gleam in her eyes as she repeated gossip that could leave a trail of little fires in its wake like grinding wheels on trains have been known to do along the tracks. Yes, I've found the first person to go on my Hell-No-We-Can't-Be-Friends list.  ©

Twerking and Other Things...

My Red Hat Society chapter, this week, packed holiday decorated bags full of goodies for 48 residents in the nursing home we adopted ten years ago. Hand cream, lip gloss, pads of paper, pens, chocolate, Kleenex, bookmarks, gripper socks, cookies, Christmas ornaments and candy canes along with  greeting cards. Just passing 48 cards around the table to sign took forever, but we talked as we work and we got our gift project done without needing our sleeping bags.

They say the turnover of residents at the home is so great that only a few have been there as long as we’ve been doing our ‘do-good’ project. Looking around the table as we worked, I couldn’t help wondering which lady will be the first in our group to live there---getting rather than packing our goodie bags. One Red Hatter has breast cancer, another carries an oxygen tank and a few others have major health issues I can’t name. We’re not much younger than the people in the nursing home and as much as I hate this ‘do good’ reminder of the future that could be mine, I’m happy there are a few in our group who gleefully keep it going. If I was in a nursing home I’d like to get one of those holiday bags on Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Easter and Halloween. I’d probably be “that one” who tries to steal a second bag and gets caught every time. Maybe I should start practicing how to be sneaky so I can perfect my technique before I need it?

I read a comment on another blog, As Time Goes By, saying that attitudes about aging falls in two categories: Denial and Fear and I thought, it’s easy to figure out where I stand. I’m certainly not in denial about growing older. But fear? I can’t exactly say I fear it so much as I regret it has to happen. If anything I fear it happening before I’ve made my mark on the world. People with children have something important to leave behind. People who were educators, inventors, gifted entertainers or artists have a body of work to leave behind. But if I’m going to leave anything important behind I’d better start creating it. Hey, I’ll bet I’ve already set a world record for starting the most sentences with “and” and “but.” That used to be such a big no-no when I was first learning how to write. Maybe it still is but I can’t seem to get through a blog without doing it. I tell myself it’s because a personal blog should be more like we talk than when we write formal articles or fiction. So I excuse myself and isn’t it clever how I managed to divert this paragraph from the topic of fearing the aging process to talking about writing styles? Damn, I’m good. (Please insert a laugh tract in here if my wildest dream comes true and this blog entry goes viral.)

Another frequent commenter on the same blog mentioned above asks: “Is there a store that specializes in stereotypical clothes for the elderly?” And he goes on to make an excellent point about how we people of a certain age stereotype ourselves by the way we dress. He’s right, of course, but after so many years of trying to keep up with the fashion trends coming out of Paris (or K-mart) I think we get to a point where we realize that we are more than our wardrobes. Not to mention keeping up gets too darn expensive and for what purpose? I don't wear out clothes like I used to do when I worked. And can you image an eighty year old with declining agility and shaky legs having a skirt so short that you’d think she’s twerking every time she picks something off the floor or bends over to tie her shoes?

I, for one, also don’t want to show off my varicose veins and cellulite in the name of keeping up with fashion trends. Ya, I know, young people would probably have that stuff surgically removed but aren’t we old duffers more cerebral than that? That’s my excuse for my lumpy, “colorful” thighs and I’m sticking to it. It’s also laughable to think we could even keep dressing in the current fashion trends. I don’t have the boobs or butt anymore to look like Kim Kardashian or the Pirelli calendar girls who were obviously dressed some place where there's a fabric shortage. And I don’t know any woman in my peer group who hasn’t seen her boobs and butt drop like a bird with an arrow in its heart. (Jeez, that's the kind of simile that comes from reading The Hunger Games trilogy back-to-back. Where is my book of Robert Frost poetry when I need it for inspiration?” Boobs and butts that drop like lead balloons makes more sense.)

The bottom line: Many/most elderly people have learned how to not take ourselves so seriously. We’ve finally figured out that we can, indeed, follow the beat of a different drummer and the sky doesn’t fall---and that includes our fashion (or lack of fashion) choices. On the other hand, if we want to follow Mr. Normal and Mrs. Average down the street, we old people know that's perfectly okay too. But please, no twerking should be allowed for anyone over the age of---heck!---if I were King of the world I would ban it completely! ©