Ode To The Aged

I don't know who gave old people the right to be crotchety. I'm not talking about old people my age, I'm talking about really old people that sit in creaky chairs, have lap dogs, and live in places that smell like apple cores, and don't get up for door bells anymore.  I suppose its because they've spent most of their life being kind, and pleasant, and courteous, that the tank is just empty now.  Too many years telling Mavis and Ed how beautiful their kids were, or gushing over ugly babies at the Church picnic.  I'm wondering if one day they just wake up and find out the fuel gauge is on "E" and decide to pull over and call it quits.

We know a handful of old people, and it always amazes me how frank they can be. I'm all for calling a spade a spade, and I think transparency and honesty in communication are beautiful things, but some of the silver hairs can sure take that to a whole other level. 

I know of a little old lady down the road living by herself in a modest modular home.  There's dust on her door bell, and a few grand kids toys strewn across the driveway that haven't moved since The Beatles broke up.   She's widowed, lonely and desperate for company, (I know because she told us, and gave us crap for not coming by). 

She leaves other hints, like the tiny family devotional, (dated 2010) we found stuffed in our mailbox today, with a note stating that we were quite welcome to come and discuss the contents if we were up to it.

We haven't up until this time, but decided today would be a good day to stop by and say hello, but only to make an appointment for the following day, so she could dust the counters and perhaps find the source of the smell that's been plaguing her home for the last week.  So up the steps we went, boldly going where few people go.  I think we took her by surprise, because she needed a few moments to get her faculties together.  At first I thought she would tell us that she wasn't interested in a vacuum cleaner, or that she doesn't believe "that Jehovah Witness hullybaloo", but as the cobwebs cleared she saw it was just the couple from down the street.  We stated our purpose for a short visit the next day, and she replied that "yes Seven O'clock would be fine, even though that's when I watch Jeopardy & Wheel Of Fortune"

Another older couple we used to visit was like a trip to the dentist. Slow and painful. We honestly tried our best to show interest, offer some words of encouragement, bring a little light to a long day. What we got in return was a cookie harder than a hockey puck, and a cup of tea.  I dare not ask for a little milk because they always felt the need to make a comment about the fact I'm a portly fella.

I'm going to be old like that one day. I already feel the attitude coming on a bit here and there, and I'm fighting it as hard as I can.  I don't want to be like that. I don't want people to visit me in my creaky chair because they feel they have to, and feel sorry for me, and laugh about me when they roll out of the driveway.  So I'm already planning.  There will be chocolate on the table, cold beer in the fridge, fresh squeezed orange juice, oven baked goodies, both with and without gluten (cuz I understand that's the rage). Oh, and a can of Febreeze and a Ten dollar bill for everyone that comes to visit. An extra two dollars if you bring kids.

No babies however. They're noisy and they stink. (-: