This lousy winter has made me start to Feel My Age, and I wonder what kind of Old Lady I'll be. I mean, I've had several Old Lady examples to look to, but really, it's one of those things I have to figure out for myself.
Certainly, I would rather not be an Old Lady. I'm resentful of the limitations I'm suddenly experiencing, lending me new empathy for my saintly grandmother Ethel who used to always lament, "My mind wants to do so many things, but this old body just won't let me!" She used to go to her doctor and warn him not to tell her that any of her problems were due to Old Age, or to be overly cautious in his treatments, either. Grandma once told him to just remove one of her toes that kept giving her problems; she was tired of dealing with it. She was still doing floor exercises on a mat in her nursing home room in her nineties. She made all my winter coats until I was 13, and she did that for dozens of grandchildren. Her sense of organization and ambition were formidable. I never inherited her skill in sewing, but I did inherit her arthritis, sadly, and I'd like to think I got my sense of order from her, too.
Her mother, my Great Grandma Hetsler was the most horrible person I ever knew. On the unfortunate days that our visits to Grandma's house coincided with Grandma Hetsler's stays, I was devastated. She sat in the living room like a Puritan judge, ramrod straight, with her grey hair pulled back in a severe bun. She wore little glasses and her face wore a constant pained look. Her cane was always in her hand, at the ready. She disapproved of girls wearing pants, and she always said so, both to us and to our mother. And whenever we were close enough, she whacked us, hard, on the back of our legs with her cane. There was no reason at all other than she wanted to or took some perverse pleasure in it. I constantly appealed to my mother and my grandmother, but all they said was, "She's an old lady. Just never mind her." I made a vow as a child to never, ever be like her, and to always listen to my children.
My husband's grandmother, who liked to be called G-Ma, and who had a hand in raising him, was one of the kindest women I ever knew. Each and every one of her grandkids was perfect, a superhero, a genius, and the best at their job. They all made all the right decisions always. That woman was the biggest cheerleader for her grandkids and, eventually, their spouses and great-grandkids. She lived only a few blocks away from us when we were just starting out with our house, and one day she drove over with a huge watermelon she'd gotten on sale, and wanted Rick to cut it up so that we could have most of it. We did it right in the front yard on the tailgate of her station wagon. There were a lot of birthdays when her gift was a car payment or grocery gift card. She was special. I hope I showed her how much I appreciated her when she was still with us. She really knew the value of Truly Being There.
Today, this Old Lady went grocery shopping, swore at her car (I hate that it gives me a score for my driving that goes lower if I use the heat ), took a walk in the rain, and sat with her cat while he watched a video of birds and squirrels (because he asked to). She signed petitions against republican bullshit and wrote emails to Congress. She said The Eff Word about 20 times to no one in particular. And she ate lunch with her son. So, for now, I'm That Kind Of Old Lady.
