My elder friends and I are now looking at our belongings and wondering who should get what when we go. It’s funny to note that some things I thought my kids would both want are not of interest to either!
There comes a time when we all have to try and explain death to our children. My granddaughter, at the age of 5 is very curious about what happens after you die. She has asked me several times where I will go, and now that I’m close to finding out, all I can say is…I’ll still be right here beside you. I can only hope that it’s true!
Another embarrassing home truth. I did this, and felt like an idiot afterwards. Fortunately, we lived in the countryside–a good distance away from our neighbours. What made the strip work was the thought: "What if?" What if I had done that in a tightly knit, urban community? "What if?" was a muse I regularly relied on!
More real playground memories…I remember the sound and feel of the swings, I remember the pinch of the u-shaped seats, the thump of a loose pole, the sense that I could fly over the top if I pumped hard enough. No wonder you see so many grandparents pushing youngsters on park swings; it’s a way for us to go back in time!
This was based on my playground memories, but you don’t see too many metal slides any more. They were hot in the summer, but with a bit of polishing and a pair of long pants, they were faster than poop through a goose! Nope. Modern plastic slides just don’t cut it.
I was in a park the other day and there was a tree full of sneakers…pairs of them, just hanging there. Does anyone know the significance of this? All it does is make me think that some families can’t afford shoes.
I have a fantasy: for a day, I am a sculpture in progress. I am also the sculptor. I have a day to remove stuff and add stuff to my body, until I am completely happy with it. Then I can come to life and enjoy the results. Yeah. I might need more than a day.
You have to be in a good mood to shop for a new bathing suit. You have to feel good, and you have to feel thin. You also have to be ready to completely undress, perhaps many times, so an optimum day must happen for the search to begin.
The difference now is seniors don’t want to change! At 13, we all were desperate to be adults. Every little physical sign was a step towards freedom, or so we thought. At 13, we were all aware of each other’s physical changes, and were constantly asking about them. Seniors do the same. We just don’t get any joy out of the answers!
This little scenario was performed by yours truly to an unappreciative audience, several times. Yet, the concept of replacing the roll seemed to elude an otherwise capable crew. I took to putting the roll on the seat in full view with the hope that it would be correctly reinserted in the aperture created for it. Eventually, I gave up. You have to pick your battles, I guess, and in the scope of large family concerns, this was not on the radar. It pleases me no end now to see my kids in their own homes replacing their rolls with skill and dexterity. I guess you can teach by example after all.
At the age of 70, my friends and I have been asking each other questions like: Do you have cataracts yet? Are you done with menopause? Have you got high blood pressure? Diverticulitis? Acid reflux? …All the things seniors start to grumble about.
I remember this stage of my life so clearly. My friends and I would secretly compare our progress, wondering why we seemed to be slower to change than others. The funny thing is, from the age of 60 onward, my friends and I have been doing the same thing!
This is another story from the heart. My son had bunk beds in his room and my daughter just had a single bed. It was much easier for him to host a friend for the night than it was for her. When I let Aaron have a boys only all-nighter, it seemed as if Katie was being left out of everything. Sometimes, it’s hard to make things even, especially when a kid wants equality NOW!
We all hear complaints about young people; how disrespectful and inconsiderate, how noisy and unruly they can be. The kids who stayed with us for the hockey tournaments, however, were the easiest kids I’d ever had the pleasure to deal with! So the story running here was more about creating an interesting cartoon than it was about telling the truth!
Six 10-12 year olds fit themselves into our basement with one more sharing the bunks in Aaron’s room. I was surprised by how many brought their own pillow. Each pillow was a treasured object not to be trifled with!
The first year it was my turn to host kids from the out of town hockey team, I prepared for mayhem. I bought kid-friendly food items, borrowed strong camping gear and restocked my first aid kit. I was going to hold up under pressure…after all, other moms did!