November 4, 2021
I suppose I need to step it up in my blog production. I know of people cranking out their purple prose at a much more prolific rate than I – as often as once or twice a week. Perhaps I can look at this from several perspectives. Those people have more to say. Those people have too much time on their hands. I don’t have enough to say. My words are so precious, they are to be savored and anticipated. My brain isn’t as large and oozing with content as my peers. Words are cheap. Words are gold. Who can really say? The possibilities are endless. Regardless, I am here now with a short offering of prose, not necessarily purple, perhaps merely a pale lavender or amethyst. It’s the best I can do on a dreary day which weather-wise and metaphorically, matches my mood, and I am not sure why.
Take my life for instance. I live alone, save for my 13-year-old, almost blind, and I am fairly certain, completely deaf, 11-pound Chihuahua. This little dude clearly didn’t get the memo, because despite his infirmities, he firmly believes that he is a Rottweiler. It’s comical. Annnnd, I am about to go to the pet supply store to purchase doggie diapers because not only is he peeing on the floor, this morning the little jerk thought it would be a nice gesture of defiance to literally wet, no, saturate the bed – MY side of the bed as I was blithely taking a shower. He’s never done this before and, I am afraid, given other signs, he is beginning his downward spiral. Also, I really shouldn’t accuse him of being defiant as he emptied his bladder, because a) I didn’t see it and b) of late he’s been anything but defiant. My Bruno has been almost a different (I almost wrote “person”) canine. He seems depressed but accepting of his fate. The eyes tell it all. He still wants to cuddle, but there are also days when he’s not interested, and would rather just retreat to his dog bed or under the adult bed. Perhaps to be alone with his thoughts. Much like the rest of us in our senior days. Those of us in our “twilight” years are lucky I believe. I think we can appreciate life on so many levels. Yes, we don’t have as much spring in our step, but we have a greater respect for the fact that we can still take steps, albeit more gingerly in some cases. I’m glad to be alive even when my dog is peeing all over the place. So, I stripped the bed and avoided eye contact with my Bruno, because I know he felt bad. At least I hope so. Ask me tomorrow.
I recently went to Las Vegas for a few days with some friends to catch a couple shows, eat some good food and enjoy some adult beverages. Two of the shows were renowned artists, Rod Stewart and Barry Manilow. Since I am talking about geriatric issues in this blog, how appropriate is it that I would buy tickets to see two of my favorites. They did not disappoint and demonstrated that when you’re good, you’re good. Neither has lost it. Maybe they are a bit slower; they are in their late 70s after all, but they demonstrated to me that when you love what you do, you continue to do it well. I also called my financial advisor to remove my daughters as beneficiaries from my estate because of their disrespectful remarks about these two fine gentlemen and their possible lack of stamina and maybe the need for spotters and walkers while on stage. No child of mine will be rewarded for such talk. They will think twice before disparaging such icons of modern music. My guess is that when they are in their 70s, that New Kids on the Block won’t be having a residency in Vegas. Just sayin.’
After returning home, I had a slew of appointments, doctors, dentist, etc. They quickly brought me down to earth with the realization that this old body is starting to betray me. I am not the sexy young broad I once was. Things are facing south that used to be facing east; other things seem to have relocated; I can’t seem to find a few things and neither can the doctor; one or two things may need to be removed or relocated, not sure why, etc. etc. You get the picture. I have friends who have similar, I won’t call them complaints, just realities. This is life and I/we will deal with it. As they say, it’s certainly better than the alternative. I did manage to make one doctor laugh so hard that he cried and said that I made his day. He was asking me to entertain the possibility of having a sleep study performed and I quickly put the kibosh on that suggestion, because I have had sleep studies done in thepast and I have also used a CPAP machine. I informed the doc of these facts and let him know that I failed miserably and took the walk of shame when I returned the CPAP because of my aversion to wearing anything on my face. I told him “The only thing I will have on my face is Hugh Jackman. So, unless Hugh is there to utter sweet nothings and blow moist air into my mouth and nostrils, just let me die.” Hugh? Are you listening, sweetie?
Seriously, some might say getting old sucks. I really don’t mind. I obviously wish I didn’t have my ailments and various medications, but it’s OK. I plan to live my life as actively as I can, travel, be with my kids and grandkids and enjoy what comes my way. I refuse to take things too seriously. Don’t worry, be happy. And make sweet Bruno’s waning years as comfortable as possible.
Widow's Pique 