We moved Mom into a senior living facility when she was about 92. It wasn’t because of any infirmaries that might inhibit her; quite the opposite – she insisted on continuing activities like descending a narrow set of steps to the basement two or three times a day to do laundry (she loved to do laundry!). It wasn’t because of any cognitive decline; she played bridge competitively three or four days a week. And she still drove! Living in the apartment was a love/hate situation for her. She longed for the greater sense of independence she associated with living in her home longer than a half-century. By contrast, she felt comfort in having others around, though she complained that she couldn’t find enough good bridge players to a decent game. She enjoyed the other activities that were just part of living there, such as talent shows starring the other residents. She complained occasionally that she didn’t know anyone. After humoring this complaint for a while, I pointed out that every time I visited her for lunch, she would share with me the life story of practically every person who passed our table. After another theme of grousing, I reminded her that we had kept her house so she could return if the apartment didn’t work out. “Well, to tell you the truth, I would prefer to be in the house so I could piddle around during the day, but I prefer the apartment at night because there is someone here 24/7 in case I have a problem at 3 in the morning.” “How many times have you called at 3 in the morning?” “Well, none.” The next night she called the front desk at 3 in the morning complaining that she had fallen asleep in her recliner and couldn’t get up! I always got a kick from the irony when she referred to others in the facility as an old woman or old man. This was coming from my 92-year-old mother so I would ask, somewhat puzzled, how old the person was. “Oh, she’s 78.” To my mom’s credit, most people were incredulous when she admitted her age.
The average life expectancy in the US is about 80, with males being about 78 and females being about 82. Hmm. In hopes of living longer , I checked different sources: life insurance estimates, IRA investment groups, the United Nations, the US CDC, and even the CIA (who knew!). Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a source who said I would live longer! Drilling down, I discovered that I could gain about a year, on average, by moving across the state line to the neighboring state. If I were going to move to add years, though, Hawaii is number one, and I could gain a couple of years. But let’s face it – I’m getting old(er). I can only hope that however long I live, I’ll be like my mother, pointing to people younger the me, and referring to them as old!
I met some old high school buddies yesterday. One of them summed up the nearly half century since high school: remember when we all wanted to date [insert a name from your past] in high school? And now we’re comparing our Medicare plans?!
Have you ever . . .? Hmm. Note to self: return to this when you remember whatever.
My son read a series of seven numbers to me the other day – some code to verify that I was indeed the rightful person to access some site. He began to repeat the number, but I beat him to it and recited the string of numbers as I was keying it in. He was impressed. Growing up, we had to dial phone numbers. So if I wanted to call my friend Steve, or Jeff, or anyone else, I needed to commit their number to memory to avoid looking it up each time in the phone book. The phone numbers when I was growing up were seven digits. The format when I was a kid was two letters and five numbers. The two letters designated the city or town where the switch was located. For example, I grew up in the small community of Gladstone, and our phone number was GL2-2413. The 2 following GL came from the A in GLAdstone when the phone companies were forced to seven-digit dialing to keep up with growth. Eventually, the letters were converted to the dial numbers on the phone, so GL2 became 452. Out of necessity, then, I became quite good at remembering phone numbers. Now I have most people I know in my phone contacts. I don’t need to remember their phone numbers . . . and I don’t! I’ll probably forget my own over time as I continue to send new contacts a text so they will have my phone number.
As I said, I came back to this one. Sometimes I walk into a room and forget why.
“Most mothers entering the labor market outside the home are naive. They stagger home each evening, holding mail in their teeth, the cleaning over their arm, a lamb chop defrosting under each armpit, balancing two gallons of frozen milk between their knees, and expect one of the kids to get the door.” ~ Erma Bombeck
Mothers are masters of multitasking. You’ve seen it: a mother holding a small child on one hip, stirring a pot on the stove with her free hand, while having a conversation on the phone cradled in her neck and shoulder. Can I do that? Not on your life. Instead of meatballs, the spaghetti probably would be served with a phone. Work was different. To accomplish all that I thought I needed to, I would multitask. For example, I might be engaged in a phone conversation, and possibly listening to someone in my office, while also trying to read a report or write a memo. On reflection, I probably could have done better had I focused on one activity at a time. I also have concluded that it might have been disrespectful to some of the people I tried to interact with, not giving them my full attention. I know that I sometimes feel discounted if the person I’m talking to is simultaneously texting/tweeting/Instagramming! I’m retired. When I multitask now, it’s generally because I’m trying to do something, or talk to someone, during my nap time!
I was fairly active when the Covid crisis hit in 2020. That changed! Before Covid, we met family and friends, ate at restaurants, went to movie theaters, played pickleball. Seven of us went to Las Vegas in early February. By mid-March, we ceased all those activities. We stayed in, grateful for our new storm door so we could sit in lawn chairs in our entryway and watch neighbors we hadn’t seen before walk dogs we hadn’t seen before. We met with family and friends virtually (are you ready to give up Zoom?). We streamed Netflix and Prime to the point of addiction; binge-watching became our evening activity. We listened to the silence as planes were taken out of service; the area’s international airport became a giant jet parking lot. When friends asked what and how I was handling stay-at-home requirements, I told them about new goals I set: (1) shower and dress before lunch; (2) at least one nap daily; (3) watch at least three episodes of whatever I was bingeing; and so on. I also admitted that I was increasingly falling short on meeting that first goal. Being vaccinated and boosted gives us a greater sense of freedom, but we still wear masks at indoor public places. We play pickleball more regularly because it’s easy to distance and the indoor courts are large and airy, and we can play outdoors in good weather. We went to our first movie at a theater; we knew this theater would be underutilized, and sure enough, only four other people were watching the new James Bond movie at the matinee showing. We meet friends and family that we know are vaccinated and boosted, and we eat in restaurants that have rearranged their seating for greater distance. But even this freedom ebbs and flows with area Covid outbreaks – currently, most of the area hospitals are virtually at capacity (a recent Topeka Capitol-Journal article reported that Kansas hospitals are “rationing care”). I don’t know what normal will look like post-pandemic . . . or even if there will be a clearly demarcated post-pandemic. I have experienced significant change over the course of my life – from a party-line rotary dial phone to a cell phone that performs as a camera, stereo, and so much more; from doing long-division by hand to calculators that are programmed with advanced mathematical functions. Normal has always been fluid, evolutionary. What we have now seems more like a slap-in-the-face reset. I can’t wait for the evolution to resume.
There is just more truth in this t-shirt than I care to admit!
I’m glad I remembered to come back to this. I suspect all of us has experienced that momentary lapse when we walk into a room and forget why we came. I’ll admit, my incidents seem to be mounting! Just this morning I was looking for a hoodie that I recently washed. It wasn’t in my clothes closet. It wasn’t in the entry closet. It wasn’t still in the dryer. I finally recalled hanging it over the rocker in the master bedroom in case I needed it quickly when I needed to take out the puppy during the night. I put it on and was zipping it as I walked from the bedroom to the living room, and my thoughts returned to wondering where I put that hoodie. Sheesh. A good friend’s wife told me about a time my friend was going through the house, apparently in search of something. When she asked, he told her he couldn’t find his glasses. She pointed out that he had one pair hanging from the collar of his t-shirt and another pair pulled up above his forehead; which pair did he want? Episodes of memory loss – e.g., why did I come into this room – are a normal outcome of aging. Stress also can affect your memory, and chronic stress correlates with memory decline. Are you aware of any stressful situations that have lasted for the past couple of years (psst, in case you forgot, it’s the Covid pandemic!)? I like one suggestion for remembering things: make a list. The problem is, I can’t remember where I left the list.
You’ve probably seen a bumper sticker that reads, “I’m spending my kid’s inheritance.” I have a friend who jokingly tells his kids, that based on his financial projections, if he has a nickel left, he miscalculated. Another friend hopes his last check bounces. None of my friends nor I feel that way, but it summarizes this notion that we have worked hard to save for a future that we are now living. We want that future to affect our progeny in positive ways, but our time is growing shorter. One of my mom’s close friends was a member of the Red Hat Society. The Society was inspired by the poem, “Warning,” by Jenny Joseph; it begins, “When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple, with a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me.” Kathleen epitomized the ideal of the Red Hat Society. She was engaging and a genuinely nice person. She also was strong and independent; and anyone who tried to control her be damned. As we age, to the extent that we can accept and enjoy our independence, our perspective on life evolves. Mom beat the actuarial projections and died when she was 94, and many of her siblings likewise beat their statistical projections. I might have that maternal family gene that contributed to an extended life. I look at the life expectancy today, though, and I can see a projected sunset turn into dark night. While it is nothing more than a statistical, actuarial calculation – a number – it’s a reminder to get the best out of life. The popular Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas wrote a poem that is perhaps his most popular. I have included two different readings/recitations; if you prefer to hear only one, try the one by Rodney Dangerfield – the conclusion at the end of the clip is quite apropos!
Mike's Fountain Pen 
Unfortunately I could easily relate to everything you said.
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Always enjoy reading these.
One good memory of early COVID days was the outdoor parking lot get togethers over at Briarcliff.
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Agreed. I’m glad you’re enjoying reading the posts.
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