Century Club

Why do all of these people have to be here today? For that matter, who are most of these strangers?

Why does everyone have to fuss about my birthday … after all, I’m just 100 today.

I have nurses coming in my room at all hours of the day. My food looks like that of a two year old child. I can’t do anything without at least two persons barking orders at me to “do this” and “do that.” What is SO great about being 100 years old, that all of these people need to be here taking pictures with me all day long? Why couldn’t they have done that a decade earlier when I had all my teeth and my skin didn’t look like that of an elephant?

So what if I was born right as the United States was about to enter the worst time it had ever endured as a leading democratic nation, or the fact that I have been alive during 18 different President’s terms, or I rode to school in a horse drawn carriage. I worked on the family farm for over 30 years. History is relative. Today, people bitch and moan over the smallest things, they couldn’t have survived in the conditions that I knew as a young adult.

I’ve lived through too much. I’ve buried my parents, all my siblings, my husband, too many friends to count, two children, and a grandchild. I’ve affected as many lives as I could when I had the ability to do so. I’ve seen the economic conditions in the world change more times than Elizabeth Taylor’s wedding attire. So why is being 100 years old any different from any other birthday? It’s actually depressing to think about.

“God, what can I still do to make a difference? What purpose do you still have for me here on this earth? What can I do…in this body, that you would still have me here?”

Surrounded by three generations of MY family I think, “Thank you for the blessing of family. God I love them, but why am I still here?”

I need a cigarette!

Silence is Golden

Oh my gosh [I think my granddaughter says this by writing OMG. It is amazing kids that kids know to talk anymore]! Anyways, I have had the worse trouble sleeping the last couple of nights. It appears that my roommate thinks she’s a baby again, because she is constantly crying for her mother in the early hours of the morning to take her to see nana's horses. Good Lord, is this how we are supposed to "age gracefully?" If so, then please take me now.

The nurses have explained to me that my roommate has dementia and that her condition will progressively get worse. In having a conversation with her daughter, the physician has prescribed something to address this change that she has recently experienced. In addition he has also provided something to help her sleep at night. For that I am very elated; however, what about me? The doctor needs to prescribe something to help me sleep, because I’m about to go stark raving mad if I don't get decent rest.

When addressing my concern to one of the administrative staff members, they mentioned to me that since I am levying the complaint regarding my roommates late hour, maternal chanting, I will have to be the one to move to another room. How is that fair? I’ve been living in this room for three years, eight months and six days. Now, because I have been a good person, followed all the rules, and never had any problems, I have to move?

If only I had terrible hearing that required hearing aids that I could take out at night, so I couldn’t hear my own breathing. Ugh, it doesn’t pay to be this old and healthy!

She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not, She Loves Me...

Ken, sitting on his bed, attempts to greet his oldest daughter but cannot stop sobbing.

"Dad, why are you crying?" inquires Elaine.

After he blows his nose, he musters up enough energy to respond to his eldest offspring. "Oh dear, it's horrible" he whispers.

Elaine always comes by to see her dad at least four times a week and has never seen him this visibly upset. Very concerned she responds, "What, what's horrible dad? You have me worried."

Drying the tears from his wrinkled cheek below his glasses, "I don't want you to get upset, but your mother is having an affair with John Levinson down the street. SHE'S LEAVING ME! I don't know how I can live without her."

Elaine sighs with a smirk on her face, "Dad...uh [pause] Dad."

"Yes dear?" says Ken

"Dad," says Elaine, "mom died seven years ago."

For a moment, there is a brief moment of silence, then Ken retorts, "Oh thank God she's not cheating on me!"

Shades of a Graying Society - My Blog Manifesto

As we reflect on the spectrum of life, we require lots of care and love at the beginning and at the end of our life cycle. However, everything in between generally comes to define the body of our life and how well we lived.

I have a secret, that you have to promise not to tell anyone...there are no mulligans in life.

We go from being modeled and educated with marginal amounts of responsibility, to becoming a participant in "the world" where we not only aide in the stabilization of socio-eco systems, but also facilitate change among the status quo. During the latter stage of our functional use, we garnish a tremendous amount of responsibility; however, to quickly we have to relinquish the leverage and flexibility that we created for ourselves in order to enjoy "our golden years", to finally becoming an individual that is no more self-sufficient than a 2-year old child.

There is nothing that can be done to change the past. However, if we are able to change our perspective and understand our elderly a little more, then maybe we can add a little more utility to their lives while they are still here with us, we may even learn something from them to help save this ailing America.

Let me state that, I'm just an American that has a passion for community and care about a group of people called our "Greatest Generation."

These are the same Great Depression kids who value a dollar bill, these are our most proud Patriots, this is the generation that embraced "The American Dream", these are the employees who worked one job their entire life, these are the husbands and wives that honored their wedding vows. Even more so, this is the last generation that was subservient to convention - in other words, they did things because they were supposed to do them and didn't challenge systems or authority.

If you had to supply a present definition of getting older , I would have to say it is the gradual contraction of an individual's environment, sphere of influence and scope of interaction - in short, a loss of independence and the introduction of co-dependence.

Now our Depression kids have become depressed. Anxiety and Depression have become more wide spread in our elderly than in times past. Why? Easily stated in the pharse, "...I used to be able to do [fill in the blank]."

The purpose of this blog is to help myself, you, your family, your friends and others to try and age with a little more grace and help others do the same.

As my high school Accounting teacher would always tell us, invest your time...don't spend it.

Hope you enjoy the anecdotes.

Check Please

Here I am at dinner. Longing for the steak that I ordered. Cooked to perfection - charred on the edges and pink in the middle, bathing in its own essence. If I'm lucky, I can get one of the aides to embezzle a glass of wine to my room.

That's the fantasy right now.

The only steak that tastes good, is the one I'm eating in my mind from 35 years ago when I was at home with my son grilling in the back yard. Reality says, here is the [minute]steak[like] octogenarian meat thats my main entree. Ground to perfection, so that I may be able to chew it. The alternative at this point in my life, with the teeth that I have remaining, is to have it put in a food processor and drink it and I'd rather remarry my ex-wife or spend another 500 days in the European theater fighting Hitler again than eat that "meat pudding".

This broiled bovine brick resembles the likes of a bad Swanson Hungry Man dinner, with corn and frozen flake potates and jello [enough with the damn jello already]. I can't wait for the Surf-n-Turf for dinner tomorrow night.

Maybe I should have brushed my teeth more often as a kid?

Check please!