Maybe........

MAYBE it’s because I spent seven years of my life visiting a nursing home twice a week that I’m not looking forward to going again. Or MAYBE it’s because it’s not unusual for people my age to be living in a nursing home and I’m scared they’re going to lock the doors and not let me leave. Whatever the source of my apprehensions, it felt weird being in a group of women ages 55 to 80 as we sat around a table stuffing assorted Halloween candy, spiders and gummy worms into bags for the residents of a nursing home. But that’s what we did at our Red Hat Society business meeting. Fifty of them---bags, not ladies. Apparently, we’re going trick-or-treating in reverse. We’ll be delivering candy room-to-room instead of getting it by going door-to-door. Worry wart that I am I can visualize half the recipients of the bags ending up in ER. I know I would have a heart attack if I opened a bag and found two big black spiders mating inside. And the person I visited twice a week, my mother-in-law, would have eaten the plastic arthropods. How smart is it to include non-eatable things in candy bags going to people who have been known to pick lint off the floor and pop it in their mouths? But I’m a newbie in the group so I kept my worry wart thoughts to myself.

Also at the meeting the “Princess in Charge of Veteran Affairs” reminded us all to start accumulating stuff to put in shoe boxes for homeless vets that our chapter will be packing in November and giving out at Christmas. Jeez, I hope we don’t have to deliver those boxes in person---although it would be “character building” if we did. (That’s what my brother used to tell me and his kids whenever we didn’t want to do something.) Ya, ya. I know. I’m a liberal and liberals believe in helping people who are down on their luck. Save your heckling for someone else. I’m good at writing checks and sending them periodically to the soup kitchen and the homeless shelter in town. In years gone by I was even good at talking to the homeless when Don was at my side because I knew he could handle any threatening situation that might come up. But a swarm of old ladies dressed in purple and red climbing under bridges and viaducts looking for refrigerator box condo communities? How’s that going to work out? My new Red Hat chapter, I suspect, is going to be taking me out of my comfort zone a lot. MAYBE peer pressure will finally catch up to me after all these years of avoiding it.

My social calendar this week also included a lecture at the Historical Society. The lecture was about an old amusement park that used to be in town in between the 1890s to 1954. It was Disneyland huge and it drew in a string of well-known entertainers at the dance pavilion, playhouse and vaudeville theater---one venue alone could seat 1,700 people. The park also had a roller coaster, Ferris wheel, four story toboggan run/roller coaster and a roller rink where I skated more than a few times. The park sat in between two lakes and you could rent canoes that came with picnic baskets so you could lunch on the water. Like people who have reached their expiration dates, it’s hard to believe an amusement park so big and popular could disappear as if it never existed except for the pictures left behind in a book.

MAYBE it was the romanticism of a by-gone era or the pure talent of a cameraman to tell a story, but I went home from the lecture longing for something I can’t have. I want more candid photos of Don and me together! We took photos of each other, of the dogs, of scenery and flowers but any photos of us together were usually taken at someone’s wedding and they were formal, line-ups and stiff. “You stand over there by the bride.” “Line up by height.” “Say cheese.” I want the kind of photos where we were having a quiet or romantic moment while hundreds of people were having the time of their lives in the distance background. I want pictures of myself and Don lounging in a canoe or feeding swans along the shore on a sunny summer afternoon. Iconic photographs of an iconic era like those at the slideshow/lecture. The current generation with their cell phone cameras sure won’t have to long wistfully for more photos when they get old. Judging by what they post on Facebook young people pretty much document every moment of their days. Do they think if it isn’t captured in a photo it didn’t happen? If so, I’m beginning to wonder if they might be right. Am I just imagining the smiles that passed between Don and me so long ago? Did he really hold my hand when I needed his support? Was he real? Were we real? MAYBE I’m not so sure anymore and it hasn’t even been two years yet since he passed away. What’s it going to be like in ten?

Time marches on. The pines outside my window are thinning their needles. The cattails are losing their color. The season is changing and Halloween is just around the corner. MAYBE if I can remember not to eat any plastic spiders when I visit the nursing home with my Red Hat chapter they won’t want to keep me locked inside. MAYBE, like the main character in Water for Elephants, I'll find a way to escape the nursing home and run away to join the circus if that does happens. ©

Old People Problems, Puppets and Politics

When a neighbor tells you she saw some nice beans at the farmers market and you think she said she saw some nice queens, it’s time to get your hearing checked. When a friend tells you he’s going downtown to suck on a beer and you think he said he wants to suck on an ear, it’s time to get your hearing checked…unless, of course, you enjoy being fodder for old people jokes. Oh my god, I hate telling on myself but recently another friend was talking about getting her son’s horse some new tack and I actually spent a few moments wondering how you get a horse a new rack. Do they have veterinaries that do boob jobs on fillies? Why on earth would a horse even need a bigger rack? It’s not like horses are judged on the size of their mammary glands.

So today I spent two hours getting a hearing test. I honestly thought they’d find a big hunk of wax down in there to explain why I’ve suddenly developed old-people-itis. No such luck. I’ve lost a “significant” amount of hearing in the higher frequencies, according to the audiologist. The test was through one of those big chains that do free testing, hoping to suck you in to buying their product. The set of middle-of-the-road aids he was trying to sell me would cost roughly $5,000 or $2,700 on top of what the insurance will cover. Cripe, I hate having an old people problem! How do you go about buying a set of hearing aids so you don’t get ripped off? In my case, I’m taking the easy way out and I booked an appointment for a second test at my husband’s audiologist who is connected to an ear, nose, and throat specialist. I know they are not snake oil salesmen, I’m not so sure about the chain hearing aid place.

Old People Problem #2: Why in the world do young people think it’s so funny to lock the doors on handicap bathroom stalls, then crawl under the door and leave? It happened to me again today. In a pinch I can use a regular stall but back when I used to take my wheelchair bound husband to the restroom that wasn’t an option. Now, that's a REAL problem in situations like that and one that's not so easy for old people to solve. On several occasions little kids have crawled under the door to unlock the stalls for us and we were grateful for their help while at the same time trying not to let the ‘yuck factor’ show on our faces. You gotta know there’s cooties living on that floor! Not all kids are evil, I know that, but one evil kid who locks handicap bathroom stalls, and then leaves the building makes you forget about the next 100 good ones.

When I got home from the hearing test and the annoying bathroom experience I had a call on my answering machine from a guy with a smooth, sexy voice. Oh, my! It was the director of the museum wanting to know if I could voluntary this weekend at a park party helping with some children’s activities. All the proceeds earned at the park party are being donated to the museum and they were understaffed. I was glad I wasn't home to pick up phone as the call came in because I was in no mood, today, to be nice to cute little kids with sticky fingers and candy cotton in their hair. I had to call the guy back, though, and I was actually glad I had a prior commitment. I don't have a lot of experience with little kids. I do know they've done things like pee on my shoes, tie me up and put earth worms in my purse---and that was my nieces and nephew who love me. What will strangers do? The museum is going to be doing a lot of puppet shows so I can see where I'll need to over come my fear of little rug rats. I might actually like shoving my arm up the town’s founder in effigy. Or I might claim the Indian princess puppet. I think my voice is too high to take on the role of a lumberjack. When I declined the volunteer invitation the director said, “Don’t worry, we’ll hook you into something else. Now that we have you, we won’t let go.”

I’m going to a political rally fundraiser this weekend---my excuse for not helping with the park party. The last one I went to Don won a Michelle Obama doll in a raffle and the next week I sold it on e-Bay for a cool $150. I don’t even know who is speaking at the rally but, what the heck, don’t we all need a team to support? I hate football, baseball, basketball and hockey so it’s either politics or polo and since I don’t look good in garden hats, polo is out of the question. I try to keep politics out of my blogs but I’m really angry over what is going on in D.C. right now with the shut down, so if you’ll excuse me I’m going over to a website where debating politics is not only welcome but encouraged. And we all get to fight anonymously. ©

Tired Feet and Other Crazy Widowhood Distractions

I spent forty years of my life going to auctions, at roughly six per year that’s over 240 auctions where I’ve stood with a paddle in my hand. And I can honestly say the fund-raiser auction I volunteered at on Saturday for the museum was more fun than any I’ve ever attended. The working part was a flurry of activities and I was dog tired after two days on my feet but I’m getting to know people better, seeing a potential for friendship within the group. But it was the auctioneer who put the cherry on the experience. He had the funniest spiel I’ve ever heard at an auction, and because the auction was in a small town where many of the people knew each other, the jokes and good natured bantering back and forth was priceless. My stomach hurt from laughing.

At the silent auction I won $330 worth of gift certificates for $60.00.That included the cooking lessons that I was lusting over all last week. Oh, my god what have I gotten myself into? The website says the chefs (apparently there are more than one) who teach the classes have classes for whatever level you’re at including for people who can barely boil water, so I should be okay. I think. Now I have to decide if I want to bring someone with me and go only once, or go alone and get two classes. The classes include eating what you cook plus you get a fine wine and dessert with your meal. Their classroom-kitchen is sandwiched in between the best restaurant in town and a wine shop that is known for their tasting parties. Quite a neat concept for a little tourist town to have but right now the classes mostly seem to be about canning, so I’ll have to wait until farmers market season is over to see what they have offer for November and December.

When I look back over all the places I’ve been and things I’ve done in September I can hardly believe I’m looking at my own life. I’ve never been this social and it’s so out of character for my last 40 plus years for me push myself out into the big wide world the way I’ve been doing. I didn’t have to; I had my soul mate at my side. You’re probably thinking, “Boohoo, the widow is bidding for sympathy again!” Fair enough. I’ll keep my boohoo thoughts to myself and just say that I’m over scheduled for October, too, but after that I should be able to edit my choices down of activities that best suit my goals and interests---the senior hall, the Red Hat Society and/or volunteering at the museum. I might just decide to become a hermit and start doing Zentangle on the walls. My adoptive hometown where the museum and Red Hatters are at has an art studio opening up soon where you'll be able to rent easel space for $20.00 for two hours without instruction or $30.00 with it. I’m itching to explore that activity as well but with the weather being what it is in Michigan that might have to wait until spring.

Every spare moment I’ve had this past week I’ve been writing, editing and polishing like a madwoman on a mission and I finished my spoof obituary. Its twenty-five pages long and quite funny if I do say so myself. I was able to weave my factitious covert secret agent career into the real facts of my entire life. For example, the floral shop that I started working at when I was in high school became a money laundering place with ties to an international mafia and that’s when the CIA recruited me. The nights when Don and I were plowing snow at the mall became cover stories for our clandestine meetings where we bonded over changing the balance of power in the world. Even my dogs became part of the plot. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have the spoof obituary printed up in a soft cover book format (with photos added) and give copies to my nieces, nephew and brother for gifts. Why not. I’ve practically written my own for-real obituary at the end that suggests anyone attending my memorial service should bring their sense of humor for the reading of excerpts from my unabridged obituary. My nieces and nephew will have plenty of material in my spoof obituary to write my eulogy. I wrote my dad’s and husband’s eulogy. Someone else can write mine…unless I get bored some night in between now and when it’s needed. Lord, I need another writing project to take me in another direction before people start thinking I’m a self-absorbed widow with a dark obsession about my own mortality! Oops, too late. That cat is already out of the bag. ©