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Reflections June 2014

Puttin' on the Gritz

What Is the Point?

By Cappy Hall Rearick

It was all I could do not to butt in and tell Amanda that she wasn't the only one steamed. I felt like taking her by her fashionista shoulders and shaking her till her porcelain teeth rattled. Other than ironing, I'd have liked to ask her how Mama spent her days. My guess was that she ran rings around Amanda.

I was seated alone in my favorite café enjoying a quiet lunch when my tranquility was suddenly shattered. Two women dressed almost identically and chatting like magpies, parked themselves at the very next table. They didn't notice me; I might as well have been invisible.

So I did not feel one iota of guilt as I listened in on their conversation. Most people who know me are aware that I make a habit of eavesdropping in restaurants. I'm a writer; it's what I do; it's how I get my best stories.

"Linda, I don't know what we're going to do about Mama," said one of the women. "She's older than God but to hear her tell it, she's in her prime." (Big sigh). "She's 75 and lives in that big house all by herself. We should have put her in an old folks home years ago."

Linda reached across the table to grasp her friend's bejeweled hand. "You poor thing. What does John think, Amanda? It's his mother."

Amanda turbo sighed. "Duh! John sees his mother through the eyes of a six year old. Ask him and he'll say she could stop global warming."

A melodic sound erupted from her designer purse. She glanced down. "It's her. I'm surprised she remembers how to make a call. Last week she almost burned the house down."

"Oh my Lord," Linda exclaimed. "What happened?"

"Left the iron plugged in for I don't know how long. If I hadn't gone over there when I did – I shudder to think what might have happened."

Linda said, "Why did she do that?"

"She said the iron turns off automatically. But that's not the point."

Linda gulped her wine. "This calls for more of the grape."

Amanda continued to whine. "The iron was just the tip of the Titanic iceberg. Guess what else she did?"

Linda said, "I can't imagine."

"When she lost her reading glasses, she drove all the way over to that cheap Dollar Tree and bought 12 pairs. A whole dozen! I asked her why she bought so many and she said, 'No big deal. I've got reading glasses all over the house now so I don't worry about losing them. Wasn't that clever of me?' She actually thought she was clever."

Linda studied her worked up friend. "Amanda? She kinda was."

Amanda glared. "Kinda was what?"

"Clever. It was kinda clever what she did."

"She forgets things, too, so it's not only about losing her glasses. She doesn't remember appointments or even special occasions. Would you believe she forgot my daughter's birthday? Yes, she did. Her only granddaughter didn't get a card to commemorate the day of her birth."

Linda laughed. "I'm just as bad. Last month I forgot my son's big day. He said he'd been trying to forget it, too."

"That's not the point, Linda. I tell you, Mama needs to be in an old folks home with professionals looking after her 24-7. I'm still steamed that she forgot Tammi's birthday and what's more, I'm sick of making excuses every time she screws up."

It was all I could do not to butt in and tell Amanda that she wasn't the only one steamed. I felt like taking her by her fashionista shoulders and shaking her till her porcelain teeth rattled. Other than ironing, I'd have liked to ask her how Mama spent her days. My guess was that she ran rings around Amanda. I was willing to bet that Mama had tried to be good to her daughter-in-law because that's what mothers of sons do.

So Mama was a little forgetful. Big Whoop. Was that any reason for Amanda to bully her into sipping lamb chops through a straw at Twilight Acres for the rest of her life? I think not.

Memo to Amanda: Seventy is the new 50.  A 70-something woman doesn't sit in a rocking chair knitting all day; she plays tennis or bridge or volunteers at the local hospital. She does her own cooking when she's not line dancing or holding fund raisers for her church or synagogue. A 70-something woman maintains an active membership in the Dynamically Alive Club.

Someday, an old folk's home might be the choice Mama makes, but it won't be because she doesn't unplug the iron or forgets to send a birthday card. It will be because this 70-something woman, stoked with a lifetime of insights, will know when it is time for her to make that decision.

FYI, Amanda. That is the point.

 

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