More years ago than I wish to recongize, I was a young student nurse tending people who were most often the poor, the neglected, the old. In particular, I recall a day when it took me over two hours to comb the relatively short hair of one elderly lady. I managed to do it, taking my best care to prevent pain, only with the help of an older nurse who told me the secret was to dampen the hair with rubbing alcohol. Back then I didn't know why, and didn't much care ... now I know that it helps untangle matted hair by dissolving any accumulated oils and softening other foreign matter that could be making the matting worse. I can recall that I could not understand why the woman had allowed herself to reach that point. I did not understand why her caretakers hadn't done better for her.
Back then the only "old" people I knew were my grandparents, both still relatively healthy and active. My grandmother kept a spotless house, and maintained a spotless person in herself. My grandfather always cleaned his hands after working on mechanical things or in the garden, before he even came into the house. And then he would wash up again. That was what I knew of the elderly, the people "old enough to be my grandparents." I honestly knew nothing about how they thought, why they did things or didn't do things, how they felt about anything other than getting through each day quietly, sanely, cleanly. When young I had little concept of any part of the world -- other than China, where children were starving -- being much different at all from the world in which I lived. "Innocense of Youth" had an entirely different meaning then.
Now I myself am at an age where my children refuse to think I am old, and I feel far older than I ever thought I would. I am an elder. I even have some of the respect and perks granted to elders. But I personally have many days where I'd rather family and friends considered me insane rather than expecting proper behavior suitable to one of my age. If you can't quite follow that thought, just give it time. All of us, if we are lucky, reach that point at some stage in our lives.
Yesterday, as I was recovering from a nasty virus -- which has turned my sleep pattern inside out, weakened my knees, interfered with my breathing and generally made me feel like crap -- I sat down to brush my hair before taking the dogs out for their run. I was shocked at how matted and tangled, the worst "rats nest" ever, my hair was. How was that possible? And that is when I realized that I had begun setting priorities far different from those of my youth.
If my shoulders hurt to lift my arms, if I'm not going out anywhere I can't wear a stocking cap, if I have limited strength to get everything done, it is far easier just to grab my hair and twist it into a bun which is held in place with a big barrette. Who's going to see it? Nobody! Which is more important, the hair or the dogs' need to get out of the house to tend to natural necessities? The dogs! Is doing the dishes more important, or is getting absorbed in a book reading a good story that keeps me from remembering my back hurts and my ears are ringing? Need you ask?
I don't have kids coming over to play in my room, so not having everything in its proper place is not a necessity. Neighbors don't come for tea, so who cares if the (damned) indoor-outdoor carpet in the kitchen needs shampooing? I'm not going anywhere, and my pj's are comfy, why should I put on clothes? No one needs to see in my windows, and I know what what's outside, so why should I take the time to move the drapes and blinds out of the way and scrub the windows? Think of all the other questions and possible answers . . .
I have only so many minutes a day, so many days per week, so many weeks left in which to live my life. Now I have learned that "live" and "life" are truly defined far differently from how I thought it was when I was nine, or ninteen, or thirty-nine.
For me, being challenged to think and exercise my brain is living, not cleaning house. It is not a matter of my not knowing the best/fastest/easiest ways to do domestic cleaning ... I was a professional house cleaner off and on from about age nine until I was over twenty-five. In my time I have used a commercial buffer to shine the waxed floors, used a mangle (that rolling ironing thing) to press everything from sheets to children's fancy clothing, cleaned motel rooms to the point of shine, cleaned sick rooms, wiped walls, cleaned ceilings, shined chrome, cleaned cabinets, used sparkling water and newspaper to shine mirrors in a bar, cleaned and hand rubbed with tung oil the parade rifles for the local Junior ROTC group ... I not only know how to clean, but even have most of the equipment -- from 'shop vac' to a good carpet cleaner from Bissell -- and the appropriate chemicals, soaps, etc.
Knowing how to do something, having the necessary equipment and supplies to do it, doesn't mean doing it -- whatever "it" may be -- is a priority. I'd rather pull weeds in the garden than wash dishes. I'd rather watch Nova than scrub the tub. If I'm doing laundry, you can bet it is done in the background while I do other things I want to do.
If you haven't guessed yet, I'd rather think and write and share, than watch soap operas, sit-coms, or most "awards" shows.
One additional thing I've discovered about growing aged: I keep thinking of more things I want to do, places I want to go, things I'd like to at least try.
And I wonder if I even have enough time to even attempt all of them.
When I was young, 1984 was a book I read; now it is a year in my past, one with turmoils and problems I'd just as soon forget. When I was young, I can remember staring in awe at a favorite teacher as she spoke of seeing Halley's Comet ... and thinking that was a thing far in my future; now Halley's Comet is something I drove out to the desert to watch, my youngest child asleep in the back seat of the car and not caring a whit that this was something that happened only every six decades or so, once a lifetime. When I was young, a woman naturally got married and raised a family, and worked only if necessary; now I know that marriage is not essential to being a woman, children are a mixed blessing, career is not restricted to "old maids" and "those women," and being used by anyone for any reason is just plain not good.
Thankfully, one thing I've acquired as I grow elderly is the ability to *forgive* myself for not being the woman my parents expected me to be. I refuse to feel guilt if I'd rather write my thoughts down than go start baking bread (via machine, now that my shoulders are so trashed even surgery isn't an option). If you are my friend, you are the type of person who is glad to see me, should you visit, and could care less if the proof the dog is shedding lies in clumps upon my old carpet.
My grandparents and parents are all dead, my brother has managed to disown and disinherit me and he can have it as far as I'm concerned (although he'd better watch out if I win the $10 million from PCH), my children are all adults, and the primary person I answer to, as far as who I should be and who I am and who I shall be, is me. And what was important "then" may be of little consequence "now," while some things I never thought of then as being important now are necessary integral parts of my life and how I live it.
One other thing I've become aware of, as I grow aged, is that "the elderly" don't fit any preconceived pattern. Some may well be 'snow birds' while others are world travelers and other still are working on building ecologically friendly homes that use renewable resources at an age where they might have been expected to be concentrating on fishing trips, rug hooking, or rocking on the front porch. The elders do not fit any pattern! The one totally predictable thing about the aged is that same totally predictable thing about the young: They are unpredictable, cannot be classified as a group!
Now if you'll pardon me, I need to finish getting the snags out of my hair before I go in to start the bread ... I took the last two slices for a pbj breakfast.
