Tag Archives: social interaction

DON’T SIT THIS ONE OUT!

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

No, he’s not my husband.  Five minutes before this photo was shot, I had never laid eyes on the man.  But let me explain.  It all began in 1968, as I was leaving for my first high school dance.  As I headed for the door, Granny called out:  “Now remember, Dear, dance with EVERY boy who asks you.”  Her feeling was that to ever say, “No, thank you,” would be crushing to a fellow who had worked his courage up to ask in the first place.  So, I did and in the years since, not only have I never ‘sat one out,’ I have even taken to doing the asking myself. 

 Such was the case last week as I shopped for produce at Whole Foods.  Somewhere between the flowers and the blueberries, music began to play; lovely, danceable music.  As I turned towards the musicians, I noticed an older gentleman standing off to the side keeping time with his foot.  I walked up and asked him to dance.  He said, “No, thank you.  I’m just here to listen to the band.” 

 Frankly, he took a bit of coaxing but within minutes we were moving to a song whose name I can’t remember.  By then, I had dropped my coat and shopping bag to the floor.  His shy smile began to beam as others stopped to watch us.  Emboldened, we began to widen our circle and grasped hands.  Neither of us had a clue as to what we were doing, nor did we follow any kind of actual step like the waltz or foxtrot.  We just danced, this complete stranger and I.  From the corner of my eye, shoppers stopped to smile, a grinning cashier paused at his register, and a little girl pointed us out to her mother in wonder. 

 Why does she ‘wonder’?  I ask myself.  Our brief lives should be filled with moments like these; times we simply drop what we are doing and move to the music.  Moments don’t just happen.  We make them come alive by risking and yes, dancing.  These moments become our memories.  If we don’t make them joyful, we are doomed to a bitter old age.  Besides, the music doesn’t play forever.  So, to Granny, ‘Thank you for that advice.’  And to Vernon, ‘Thank you for the dance!’

 Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” a memoir of the 13 years her ‘advice-giving’ Granny descended into Alzheimer’s.

http://www.amazon.com/Kissing-Tomatoes-ebook/dp/B007CMNJKW

 

HELEN HUDSON HERE: CAN YOU HELP ME?

“Dear, could you help me?”  squeaked a wavery voice.  She was so short that I could hardly see her head above the basket which was piled high with Saltine crackers, canned vegetables, cleaning mops and charcoal briquettes.  Finally, I saw her; a very, very, old, wrinkled lady with sparse, white, curly hair that looked as if it had been drawn on her head instead of actually growing there.

“I can’t find the Gain fabric softener,” she pleaded.  She didn’t know what it looked like because she had never used it before.  Actually, she said she didn’t use softener but, “had a coupon.”  Suddenly, I understood the strange juxtaposition of things in her cart, which I now observed also included panty hose, a large bottle of hair conditioner, both dog AND cat food, and a squirt gun.

 I looked.  No sight of the Gain.  Just then a young man drew near with his cart.  “Could you help me, Dear?” she asked him, probably sensing that I was useless.  He took one glance at the dozens of similar, colored bottles in view and said, “Just a minute.”  Seconds later the grocery clerk arrived.  With a big grin he pointed to the Gain.  Problem was, there were four, different varieties.  I suggested the lavender.  She turned up her nose.  The clerk said he thought the orange one was neat.  “And have my clothes smell like oranges?” she scolded.   This was gonna take awhile.

When I checked out, she was still patrolling the aisles in search of coupon items.  There was now a large, plastic pitcher on the pile.  I wondered what she would do with all of those things when she got home.  I also wondered if she knew herself.  As I left, I heard her ask a young woman at the next register, “Excuse me dear, could you help me?” 

There is something beautiful about that question.  Funny thing is, it seems to me that only the very young and the very old ever ask for help.  The rest of us in between figure we can do it ourselves—even when we can’t.

On that note, here is a question for you, dear readers, now in 23 countries:  Would you send me a topic of specific interest to you and challenge me to share it here?  I will take your idea, like a coupon, search the aisles of my imagination and see what ‘we’ can find.   

TABLE FOR ONE

3 weeks ago, I posted, “You Just Never Know,” about two, old friends at our local Starbucks.  At the time, Joe was worried that his pal Bob, “had Alzheimer’s.”  I hadn’t been back since then, so dropped by this morning to say, “Hi.”  Bob was sitting alone outside on the bench.  Joe was nowhere in sight. 

“Hey!  Where’s your sidekick?” I teased. “He won’t be coming,” Bob said sadly.  “He has dementia, that Alzheimer’s thing.  His wife won’t let him come.  She said that they have to run tests to see if he can drive, for insurance reasons.”  When Joe’s family noticed that his memory was slipping, they took him to the doctor.  “They put him on some kind of medication  to slow down the memory loss,”  Bob tells me. Then he exhales heavily and stares out at the parking lot.  I have never seen such a big man look so small and bereft.

 ”Can’t his wife bring him?” I ask, “The last thing someone with memory loss needs is taking them away from familiar people and places.  And you guys go all the way back to the 4th grade!”  Bob just shook his head.  “Joe called to tell me all this himself,” he said sadly, “and I could hear in his voice that he was just all choked up about it.”  We both were silent again.  “Well, guess I’ll just have to get a replacement,” he said trying to be light-hearted, yet without a trace of enthusiasm in his voice.  “Maybe you can be my replacement?”  But we both knew it wasn’t a real question.  How do you replace a 65-year friendship?

I hope that his wife will bring him.  There’s an empty seat at Bob’s table now and no matter who sits there, they’ll never fill it like Joe did.  Bob didn’t chat up a single customer today and the whole place was sadder for it; even me.

Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” an Alzheimer’s memoir.

Related articles

THE LAST WORD

     It’s not everyday the girl in front of me at Starbucks is long, lean, wearing running shoes and almost 80 years-old.  Yes, her pure, shiny, white hair was a bit of a clue, but other than that she was all girl.  From the way she ordered her decaf cappuccino with a sweet, slow, southern drawl to her gentle, “I think y’all forgot my drink,” when the guy behind us was served first.  She had the powdery, white skin of a woman who’s always worn a hat in the sun and the straight posture of a good upbringing.

      I told her that she looked much younger than 80, but she gave me the typical, “Oh no.  You’re just sayin’ that,” response.  I told her that I’d “seen my share of 80’s” and she didn’t even come close.  When she questioned my experience with ‘older people,’ I told her about this blog.  She sighed and said she didn’t own a computer and that was that. . .

      Until I was leaving and noticed that she’d spilled her cappuccino on the floor.  An employee was cleaning it up, so I went back and ordered her another one.  As I brought her the new drink she was thrilled and said she would, “never have thought to ask for another one.”  She asked me to write down the name of my blog and said she would have a friend look it up.  As she read what I had written on the scrap of paper, she looked astonished.  “Well, how on earth did you know my name?” she asked.

       Well, Helen Hudson, you may have seen a few more sunrises than I have, but no one would ever know it to look at you.  There.  And you can’t take back THAT compliment.  I get the last word here.  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” an Alzheimer’s memoir.   http://www.helen-hudson.com)     

STRAIGHTEN UP AND FLY RIGHT!

     When I was a kid and my grandmother said, “Straighten up and fly right!” It meant pull your shoulders back and act proud to be who you are.  When I was a teenager and she said it, I  recall coming up with this flippant remark:  “People don’t fly.  So it won’t do me any good to straighten up!”  If only I had noticed old people then, I might have paid closer attention.  But I didn’t.  They were a separate species and not on my radar at all.  

     I realize now that there are two kinds of slumpers:  teenagers, who haven’t yet grown used to their bodies and old people, who are getting tired of them.  However, I have discovered a little known secret about the older ones:  If you smile at them, they actually stand up straighter.  Here’s the problem.  Who smiles at them anymore?  

     Face it.  Getting old means getting less attention.  In fact, it’s so much less it borders on non-existent.  Old people are so used to being ignored that they are disappearing right before our eyes.  No, not like in primitive societies where they literally walked off into the wilderness when it was ‘time to go.’  In modern society, they do it in small steps.  It starts with that slump–a drawing in to their shell–perhaps so they won’t be bumped & jostled by all those young people rushing past them.  The voice gets softer, not just because it’s worn out, but because there’s no real reason to raise it anymore.  Who is listening?  

     This morning,  I noticed an older woman shuffling towards the supermarket a few feet ahead of me.  She had the slump and the slowed gait as she tentatively moved towards the large, heavy, glass door.  I realized that she was trying to estimate how much time she had to pull that door open before a young man coming towards her from the other side got there first.  She hesitated.  Smart woman.  He blammed through the door and would have flattened her if she hadn’t paused.  In fact, he didn’t even SEE her.  Quickly, I grabbed the door handle and held it for her.  For half a second she looked up, took a big breath and smiled.  “Oh, thank you dear,” she said.  As she continued on towards the shopping carts, I noticed she was actually standing taller.  I could hear Nat King Cole singing in my head:  Straighten Up And Fly Right.”  (http://www.helen-hudson.com)

NO ALZHEIMER’S IN THIS GYM!

     As I headed towards the YMCA pool this morning, all the ‘old’ ladies were coming out of their water aerobics class.  One said, “Hey!  How did that Alzheimer’s talk go?”  At the mere mention of the “A” word, another piped up:  “Girls if you don’t wanna get Alzheimer’s, throw out ALL of your aluminum pans.”  As another removed her chlorine-chewed, flowered bathing suit, she chimed in:  AND don’t eat junk, just lots of fruits and vegetables.”  “I hate salad,” muttered someone in the distance.  “Oh, and NO hydrogenated fat.  It clogs your arteries.”  ”Got that,” added another pulling on her pink velour sweatpants.  “But the BEST thing we can do is exercise.  That’s why I’m here 3 times a week.”  A locker slammed to my right.  “3 times a week?” said the semi-naked, locker slammer.  ”I read you have to exercise EVERYday.”  Indeed.  But ALL of them were also ‘exercising’ what science has now proven:  increasing our social networks & contact with others will slow or even stave off the progress of the disease.  (http://www.helen-hudson.com)