“Not in Assisted Living (Yet): Dispatches from the Edge of Independence!

Welcome to my World---Woman, widow, senior citizen seeking to live out my days with a sense of whimsy as I search for inner peace and friendships. Jeez, that sounds like a profile on a dating app and I have zero interest in them, having lost my soul mate of 42 years. Life was good until it wasn't when my husband had a massive stroke and I spent the next 12 1/2 years as his caregiver. This blog has documented the pain and heartache of loss, my dark humor, my sweetest memories and, yes, even my pity parties and finally, moving past it all. And now I’m ready for a new start, in a new location---a continuum care campus in West Michigan, U.S.A. Some people say I have a quirky sense of humor that shows up from time to time in this blog. Others say I make some keen observations about life and growing older. Stick around, read a while. I'm sure we'll have things in common. Your comments are welcome and encouraged. Jean
Showing posts with label Stepford Wives. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stepford Wives. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 25, 2020

Reporting from House Arrest


All is well here on Widowhood Street. I still have Little Debbie Swiss Rolls, Mandarin Orange Slice candy and Windmill cookies plus milk to dunk the latter in. I’m getting low on toilet paper but outside my window I have a view of several dozen cattails proudly swaying in the breeze and I’m wondering if I should harvest them before the birds pick them bare for nesting material. (Time to start thinking like a frontiersman.) I still have internet connection; I’d die a slow and painful death without it. And I still have a mouthy dog and a new project to cure him of that. Yes, my Palace of Dreams aka Amazon just delivered my new and yet untested Ultrasonic Anti-Bark Device and if that doesn’t work, thanks to all those Navy SEALS, Mercenary and Delta Force books I’ve been reading I now know a multitude of ways to assassinate a person and I’m assuming they would work on Levi my Might Schnauzer as well. I'm tired of him barking at all the new canines in the neighborhood! Next time the dogs across the street have their fence line play date Levi has a surprise coming. I’m just hoping he’s not smart enough to figure out that I’m the one giving it to him. I love the little sucker and I want him to go on thinking I’m his personal AMT machine for dispensing treats. Mean Jean with her torture machine is going to keep that device out of Levi's sight.

I’m pretty sure I should be doing this House Arrest differently. It seems to be enhancing all my worst habits. Point of Fact: Most days I haven’t gotten dressed for the day until well past noon since the coronvirus inspired house arrest started---whose going to catch me in my bathrobe now that everyone is staying at home?---and I’ve been thinking about a meme I saw about changing from nighttime jammies to daytime jammies. What a wonderful idea, the best one I’ve seen for coping with House Arrest! If my body wasn’t bumpy, soft and squishy in places that should be lean and mean I could easily turn into a nudist. Clothing has always had the power to make me break out in hives if I have them on too long. And, yes, I’ve tried all different fabrics and laundry products. But alas these hives are pressure hives but I get the other kind too Aren't I a lucky little lady.

In the past ten days I have been out of the house. Twice to the post office to ship eBay packages, but you can get in and out without literally touching anything and at the time I go I rarely see anyone other than the clerk. She has more to fear from me than the other way around since she has no way of knowing if I’m been coughing corona germs all over my boxes before setting them on her scale. I also got a haircut just hours before our governor announced she was closing all hair, nail and tanning places. They had a large bottle of hand sanitizer just inside the door with a sign on it to use the sanitizer before going any farther. I usually get my eyebrows trimmed with my haircuts but they weren’t doing any services that required them to touch faces, nails or feet and they weren’t serving any beverages. Everyone is taking precautions, it’s our new coronavirus hill to climb and I predict when we get to the top I won’t be the only germaphobic to plant a flag of victory.

I also went to my first designated senior grocery shopping time at the godawful hour of 7 AM. Did you know it's still dark at that hour of the day? I haven't driven in the dark for several years now and don't think I hit any nocturnal foragers along the way but I saw a few. Before going inside the store I had visions of it looking like a scene in Stepford Wives only with women who'd aged themselves out of the movie franchise. But instead of 'little pretties' with ramrod straight backs and shoulders thrown back gliding down the aisles, I thought I’d see a bunch of gray-haired women with camel backs and uneven gaits and I wasn’t far from wrong. None of the grim-faced shoppers had floppy garden hats on like in the movie but that could change in the future if they keep the hair salons closed for very long. We corona shoppers weren't wearing Stepford Wives white cotton gloves either but many had on disposable plastic gloves and face masks.

And the place was a zoo, busier than at Christmas and there was no way to keep to the six foot social distancing rule at the front of the store. When I finally broke through the log jam to get to the shopping aisles I found myself in the men's underwear aisle and I took a few minute to calm my nerves. (Did you know Jockey's makes men's bikini briefs now? How long has that been going on?) When I got to the grocery section they still didn't have toilet paper, hand sanitizer, paper towel, eggs and noodles and the laundry soaps aisle was nearly empty. Also couldn't get a fresh battery for my digital thermometer, should I need to use it. But on the good side of senior shopping they'd mass disinfected the shopping carts with a fogger and all 18 cashier lines plus the self-checkouts were open with little waiting in line. Still, I did not like the experience and I was glad to get home, have some breakfast and wake up the dog. It was 9:00, about the time we both usually roll out of bed.

The coronavirus pandemic is touching every phase of our lives, isn’t it. Even the libraries’ donation drop slot is closed. Like why when it requires no humans at the other end of the book chute? I had just loaded some books in my trunk to donate before finding that out. I took the books out of my car and filled up the trunk with stuff to drop off at Goodwill and I was looking forward to the four point seven mile "sightseeing tour" but I had to unload the trunk yet again. Our governor just announced a stricter stay-at-home order for the next three weeks! ALL businesses (including Goodwill) are closed except those deemed "essential" like gas stations, healthcare facilities, grocery stores and liquor stores. Yes, they included liquor stores on the list of essential businesses but they left off Lady Godiva and Dairy Queen? What the heck is wrong with the people running the world? No wonder I haven't had a good night's sleep since the pandemic came a calling. ©


Sunday, September 23, 2012

Stepfordville for Old People

Back in the 70s there was a movie named The Stepford Wives. It was a science fiction thriller about a woman who came to suspect the submissive housewives in her new idyllic neighborhood were robots created by their husbands. As she watched the new arrivals in town change from independent-minded women to mindless housewives she became increasingly alarmed and started an investigation. But by the end of the movie sadly she, too, becomes a docile, robotic wife gliding through the supermarket. In 2004 there was a remake of the movie followed by several spin-offs including The Revenge of the Stepford Wives and The Stepford Husbands, but that first one will forever be my favorite.

Last week I was reminded of that movie as I toured a place I have since dubbed Stepfordville for Old People. I had signed up for a free trip to the zoo and a free gourmet lunch through the senior hall. It was sponsored by the marketing department of Stepfordville and before the zoo and lunch their marketing director took us around their 36 acre facility. It was the kind of place where you bought one of their 200 apartments and as your health declines they move you down the line---first to an assisted living unit on campus, next to their nursing home section and finally they finish you off in a Hospice unit. It was a beautiful place and they had everything you could ever want: a pool, beauty shop, grocery store, bank, gym, golf league, card clubs, dog walkers, investment broker, an on-site 24/7 minister, doctor and nurse, a formal restaurant and a causal café, walking trails, woodworking shop, arts and crafts room, deer, quilting club, classes, maid service, library, underground heated garage, real estate people to sell your house and a moving service to get you settled into the place. It was …well, just a little too perfect and what few residents we saw along the tour looked like they were plants in a TV commercial for Stepfordville. Everyone was so happy, so perfect dressed in their old people preppie outfits.

I did a lot of thinking about Stepfordville in the coming days wondering if I could be happy in a place like that and I decided there was something creepy about the place. Maybe I watch too many movies. Maybe my imagination works overtime. I'm not sure why the place gave me bad vibes, but I do know one thing: Stepfordville would be a great location for another Stepford spin-off. And their sun tanned marketing director, all decked out in his Armani suit and tie and GQ shoes would make the perfect villain.

Stepfordville sponsors other free trips about town. They say you can go on as many as you want and while the others are getting escorting around their campus you don’t have to go along if you’ve already done the tour a time or two. You can stay in their library and read a book. Oh, sure, that’s probably where they have the secret door to the laboratory where they turn you into a robot then get you to sign over all your money. So let it be known if I disappear someday go look for me walking around the grounds of that perfectly perfect old people’s community. And no matter how many times I tell you I’m really, really, really happy there. DON’T BELIEVE ME! ©