[NEWS OF A BLOG FRIEND: Amber, who is the granddaughter of Milt of Milt's Muse, left the following note on another post:
Heya Ronni and everyone else, I feel completely stupid but I have lost (husband erased) all the emails those of you sent to send on to my Grandpa, and since this is the only way I know how to contact everyone I came here! I really want to say thanks to Lucy, Jehnet and Joann and of course Ronni, I also believe there was a Claude in there too, your kind words and showing of support never fail to surprise me.
Grandpa is still doing as best as can be expected. He is on some heavy pain meds and uses a wheelchair when he needs to get around. Otherwise he pretty much stays in bed. He doesn't get on his computer anymore, but talks with my Dad quite often. Next time I talk to him I will ask for a weather update for you all and hopefully Ronni can get it posted were everyone can see.
Again, I am sorry that I lost everyones personel email and I would love it if you all emailed me again so we could write!
Thanks again everyone. Milt's grand daughter, AMBER
You can write to Amber at adamnambernestATmsnDOTcom.]
Every now and then, on the way to the grave, something happens to make you think life – or at least, aging - just might be, as some suggest, nothing more than an elaborate cosmic joke. Remember this ancient one-liner:
I’m so old that when I bend over to tie my shoes, I look around to see what else I can do while I’m down there.
Well, it’s not funny anymore.
Just recently, very recently – it never happened before I moved to Maine in June – that very thought has crossed my mind several times. Once, I really was tying my shoes and wondered “while I was down there” if that rubber band I’d seen on the floor was nearby.
On another occasion, I was on my hands and knees retrieving cat toys from under a table and saw that the cat had thrown up again. What crossed my mind was, “damn, I wish I’d brought a fistful of paper towels with me.”
I don’t mind declining capability so much as discovering that all those old folks’ jokes I don’t like are turning out to be true. It won’t be long now before I’m wearing fuzzy slippers and flannel nighties – well, actually, I always have; I just don’t let people see me in them.
As Elaine at Kalilily Time recently pointed out, what makes the jokes funny (yes, even some of the demeaning ones) is the grain of truth they contain:
Life begins at 50. That may be so, but everything else begins to wear out, spread out or fall out.
You know you’re old when…
- your joints are a better predictor of the weather than the guy with the Doppler Radar on television
- you no longer think of the speed limit as a challenge
- a 30-year mortgage sounds like a pretty good scam
- you haven’t heard of a single band on the Billboard Hot 100 chart
- a band you once thought was on the cutting edge of cool is inducted into the rock-and-roll hall of fame
Every one of those has occurred to me without being in the form of a joke.
There was a time in my life when an early dinner was considered the height of fogeydom, and I wouldn’t be caught dead arriving at a restaurant before 8:30 or 9PM. But I just made a date with a new friend to have dinner next week and we arranged to meet at 5:30PM. Next thing you know I’ll be reporting to you on the Early Bird Special at the local Denny’s.
My younger self is pointing a finger at me and laughing her ass off.