GETTING OLD

Last Sunday morning at the diner where I treat TLW (The Little Woman) to breakfast, the conversation turned to old age and my Aunt Marie, who is 91 and lives in God’s Waiting Room, Boca Raton, Florida.

Now                                Then

When I was struggling through college, with her good graces, I stayed with her for a while, until I graduated. When she was a little girl in Brooklyn, my grandmother would put the radio on in the morning, and in those days, the first thing that played on the station was the National Anthem. My poor grandmother was raising 3 little girls at the time, and Aunt Marie was the youngest. When the Anthem played, she made my grandmother rise and place her hand over her heart!

A beautiful piece of work!

She was filled with observations and advice, which she still gives out to me on occasion. For instance, she used to tell me when she had an issue with one of her two sons: “Joe, don’t get married, and if you do, don’t have kids, and if you do, drown them.” Every now and then she winds up in a hospital because she has one ailment or another, and when I call her she tells me, and I give this advice to you dear reader, also. She says to me: “Joe, don’t get old!” Good advice, no?

The conversation went onward toward my Mother, and how she along with her baby sister still live in their homes, fiercely independent and alone. My mom has a boy toy, but he goes home at night. Mom should be using a walker, but won’t. Her body is starting to give and she refuses to use the cane she has because: “Only old people use that thing!”

2 sisters sitting through thick and thin

Then the conversation centered around TLW and me, and how we are feeling our age. “Oh, I woke up this morning because of the aches and pains of arthritis, once I did I couldn’t go back to sleep again!” she said.

Often when an ache or pain occurs, I often wonder if I’m alive in 20 years hence, will it be worse, and what else will I have? Worst still, will TLW be able to take care of me, and what about her? What if she needs care, will I be able to care for her. I came to the conclusion that if a nursing home is where I need to go, I would not resist it. After all, once you get over the fact that it is the last stop, it isn’t too bad. No yard work, no house work, no shoveling or raking, three squares a day, you can freely fart and no one can smell anymore, hear any more if I cuss, and I can spend as much time in the toilet as I like, it can be a library/toilet to multi-task! Hell, that will make me busier than I am now!

Both my Mom and my Aunt hated their real first names. Aunt Marie was Christened Marietta, but uses Marie, and that is how she is known, that is by everyone but me. Every year I send her a Christmas card mailed to Marietta, and every year she threatens to kill me.