The Secret Life of Old People

When I heard that Andy Rooney had passed away yesterday, it made me think: most of my friends and acquaintances are up to their eyeballs in babies and children. They’ve got doctor’s appointments and playdates, dance classes and soccer games, carpools and story time. I, on the other hand, am awash in senior citizens. It makes sense I guess, since I’m the youngest of six and my parents were in their 40’s when I was born, that my parents, aunts, uncles, and other relatives would just be older.

I think that makes me notice older people more. Like the older guy I wrote about who walked back and forth on the same stretch of sidewalk or the residents Charlie and I visit at the nursing home (see My Latestand Greatest Fear and For Better orWorse). But like most young-ish people pondering the lives of older people, I usually get it wrong. Like that same guy walking on the sidewalk—I thought that he just walked back and forth for like 20 minutes and then called it a day. But in later weeks I saw him a bit earlier than normal time and discovered that he also does this warm up marching with knees high in the air. And then when I was out driving by a little later one morning, I saw him jogging farther down the street at a pretty good clip.

And one of the residents at the nursing home who always seemed like a somewhat sad and quiet lady who likes to sit outside in the sunshine when it’s not too cold, I just assumed she had been a housewife who outlived her husband. I had no idea that she had been the first female editor of the newspaper in her hometown in Arkansas and had traveled all throughout Asia.

Then there’s the guy who’s about in his mid-50’s that I usually see walking around the condos about a block from my house. He is always walking with this older Japanese lady who I’m guessing is his mother– they walk about the same time every afternoon. They love Charlie – except when he’s encountering one of his sworn canine enemies and his barking a little too loudly. But normally, she loves to stop and pet him. After we make a little conversation, the man always thanks me for stopping and chatting with them. I think it’s wonderful that he walks with his mother, helping her to get exercise and spending time with her. But I really don’t know anything about them and I think that whatever I guessed would probably be the wrong story.

I won’t even get started on the secret life of my parents or I will have to gouge out my own eyes and run screaming from the room. It’s enough to say that sometimes when my siblings and I get upset because our folks haven’t left the house or gotten dressed for days, well, sometimes they might not be sleeping the day away. There are six of us kids so I guess we should have realized that sort of thing could still be going on, but you just don’t think about it when your father has Alzheimer’s and your mother is composed largely of bionic parts.  Gah. Must stop thinking about this now. GAH!!!

Anyway, I’ve just been thinking that my life is on a different track than most of my friends. The only person, aside from my sister, that I’ve really been able to talk about how things are with my folks –like really talk and know that she gets it because she’s going through the same things—is my friend Gigi, who is actually the mother of my best friend from high school. We had dinner the other week and it was really great to be able to talk about what was going on with my parents (not the stuff from above), the way things veer wildly from the difficult to the hilarious. Like how my mom sometimes calls me at work with assorted emergencies, such as that she and my father have run out of hominy or the television isn’t working right.  Or last week when my mom was so enchanted by a video of a friend’s baby on Facebook that she tried to hug the screen. This was after she had shouted that I was trying to kill her by making her look at too many choices of curtains during our online shopping adventure –my mom is a bit of an Internet novice. Or the crazy hard times like trying to walk with my dad only to have him almost fall over repeatedly, he was so unbalanced.

I’ve been thinking so much about all of this lately that I haven’t really kept up with my writing. And I haven’t really given much thought to getting “back out there” and giving online dating another try. Even here, the senior have me beat as I just heard this week of an online dating service exclusively for older adults. I wish them luck and hopefully less crazy dating stories than I experienced. Then again, even though none of the matches worked out, I will say that almost all of them were wildly entertaining so maybe it wasn’t such a loss after all.

So the next time you see a senior citizen, pause for a moment in your hectic daily life. Maybe even stop for a chat. If we’re lucky, some day that will be us –as they say, old age sure beats the alternative. And while I’m getting ready to be a curmudgeon even now, muttering angrily about those kids in front of my house with their loud music, I hope that when I’m truly a curmudgeon, some crazy 30-something nut will take the time to talk with me and find out a little about my life. I’m going to sign off now so that I can finish cleaning and maybe even work a little on my book. I will try mightily to resist the temptations of the 24/7 holiday movies currently featured on the Hallmark Channel (see Hapless Holidays for more of my weakness in that area).