AGEFULLY AGING

Inspirational reflections on this and that.

Recent Posts

  • LOOK AROUND

    Know why I like old people so much?  They look like themSELVES.  There’s no airbrushing.  What you see is who they ARE.  The beauty of age is that time has written in everything exactly as you lived it, line by line.  If you were a joyful person, your face will be etched in tiny, smile wrinkles.  If you weren’t, well that sour look will be carved in and solid as rock. 

    Look around.  Youth can fool you with all sorts of illusions.  Age just smacks you in the face with truth.  Truth is a beautiful thing.  And like Keats says, that’s all I need to know.  (http://www.helen-hudson.com)

  • CLEAN YOUR ROOM!

    A friend came by to see our new house last week  Nothing really ‘new’ about this 50’s ranch but I welcomed the chance to show it off.  She marveled at the view from all the windows of the grand trees which surround us and we giggled at the constant creaking of the floors.

    As she opened the door to my daughter’s room, my heart sank.  Clothes were heaped everywhere, dresses flung on the floor, dirty Kleenex, candy wrappers, a half-eaten apple, and an unmade bed.  Her bathroom, however, made the bedroom look like the Sistine chapel.   

    Her room has looked like this for so long that I didn’t even cringe when my friend said, ‘Gosh, she’s as messy as my son!’  And while I have asked her to clean it hundreds of times, it still looks as if the person who lives there is careless and uncaring.

    Now experts on the subject say that kids’ rooms are messy because they, “have too much” or because they are “exerting their independence.”  And while both points of view have value, my take is this:  Your room reflects who you are. 

    As a teenager, my own room had a posters of Led Zepplin and the Doors on the walls.  An incense burner sat on my dresser, love beads hung from my desk lamp and my stuffed animals snuggled on the paisley bedspread.  Granny even let me tape peace symbols across the windows.  Those were my statements of independence. 

    So truth is, I don’t really want my daughter to just ‘clean her room’.  I want her to value her clothes like her friends and not just dump them on the floor when she is through with them.  I want her to realize that not capping the toothpaste or nail polish is like hanging up on someone without saying, “Good-bye.”  I want her to understand that leaving gooey trash on a strand of pearls or a white, silk blouse, is like cussing in the middle of a Keats poem. 

    When my daughter walks into this room of her own, I want her to own it as the full expression of who she IS.  So that anyone who crosses her threshold in the future will see her best self not the one on view at present.  Before I post this, though, better be sure that I made my bed this morning.  I have to lie in it.


  • GET A LIFE!!!

    When my oldest first said these three words to me I really was speechless.  Then I laughed.  After I wiped the incredulous look off my face I just stared into her then 16 year-old eyes and said:  “I have one but unfortunately for you, you’re a BIG part of it.”  Now if you have teenagers and haven’t heard this yet—trust me—you will.  And, if you are a parent of ANY sort you know one thing for sure:  Your life hasn’t been YOURS since that first cry.

    Some parents simply cannot handle the reality of that.  It’s just too all-consuming.  Casey Anthony comes to mind.  But most of us adapted piece by piece, year by year as our offspring grew.  Then one day we realized that even our simplest thoughts almost always include our children.

    Teenagers aren’t cool with that.  They so desperately want to be free and on their own that sometimes just looking at them sends them into a frenzy.  This afternoon, while driving my youngest, I was warned, “Don’t talk to me!”  So, I didn’t point out the cool clouds that were stretching across the purple sky ahead of the oncoming storm or the funny, looking dog being walked by the funnier looking woman.  Just drove in silence.

     I remember being her age.  When my grandmother drove me places I even hunkered down in the seat if I saw anyone I knew.  Just couldn’t wait to be ON MY OWN.  It didn’t help that hers was always the slowest car on the road.  The worst thing, of course, was running into a friend when she was with me.  If it were a boy, I fairly died inside.

    Somewhere along the line, though, I grew up and thanked her for all those rides.  Had lots of adventures.  Saw some of the world.   Graduated from college.  Had a career—then another career.  Fell in love.  Married.  You know the rest.

    I have 40 years of memories BEFORE my kids were born.  Way I figure it, they have a LOT of catching up to do to REALLY get ‘A LIFE.’  Yup, (and it makes me smile just thinkin’ about it) I had a life.  Still do.  Only it isn’t just MINE anymore.

     http://www.helen-hudson.com 

  • SHHH!! DON’T TELL!!

     While rinsing the chlorine off this morning in the YMCA shower, a gaggle of giggling little girls squeezed altogether in the open stall next to me.  Although several others were open, they chose to rinse off together.  Like spies on a secret mission, they peeked out from behind their vinyl curtain as if to be sure the coast was clear.  Then the giggling stopped and the whispering began. 

    “My aunt is visiting us,” confided the first.  “She’s the one with the gray hair.  She is very, very old.. . .but don’t tell anyone!”

    “Why not?” asked the smallest in a whisper.

    “It’s a secret.”

    “Oh,” they all seemed to understand at once.

    Then one broke the silence:  “How old is she?”

    “Oh, pretty old, I think,” the first replied.  “Like my dad’s age.”

    “That’s not old,” piped the third.  “My dad isn’t old but his mother is REALLY, REALLY old.  She’s my grandmother.”

    “All grandmothers are old,” added the fourth. 

    “How come?” asked another.

    “They have to be cuz if they weren’t we wouldn’t be here.”

    At that moment, I turned off the water and pulled back my shower curtain.  As I stepped out, four pairs of very wide eyes looked up at me.

    “You’re so right,” I told them.  “Without grandmothers we wouldn’t be here—and don’t worry I won’t tell anyone how very, very old your aunt is.”

    “Okay,” said the girl, “Cause she would really kill me.”

    “No worries,” I said, “Considering there are about 400 people out there today, I will never even know who she is.”

    “Phew,” said her friend as I left.  “That was close.”

     

     

     

     

  • DO WHAT YOU CAN—-WHILE YOU CAN

    Granny impressed upon me early on to, *“Always DO what you can do when you can DO it.”  While that advice has definitely gained me some friendships, it has also put me in some pretty awkward positions.  Take today for example:

     There she was, a 40-something, dyed-blonde with a spectacular figure squeezed into watertight-jeans, a slinky sweater and spread-eagled against the wall of the women’s bathroom in Whole Foods.  Her over the shoulder, come-hither look, leered sexily towards the camera.  And there I was, squeezing the shutter of that camera. 

     No, I didn’t know her.  We had ‘met’ just three minutes earlier when sight unseen, she simply started up a conversation while I was in the stall next to her.  Turns out she’s recently divorced and met a guy online.  He just asked her to text him, ‘ a butt shot.’   “I need to send him one in the next 5 minutes,” she declared.  “It’s crucial or he won’t ask me out.”  (Yes, I did look around for the hidden camera.) 

    “Do you mind?” she asked.  Utter loneliness was etched in her eyes.  Not the time to remind her a man should love you for who you are, not how you look.  “Of course not,” I replied casually as if I do this sort of thing often.      

    But Granny also said, “Always do your best.”  So, I shifted the blonde more towards the door where the light was better, asked her to drop her right shoulder, and raise her chin.  “Now twist your buttocks slightly to your right.  Perfect!”  Click.  Click.  Click.

    At that moment, the door opened.  The woman entering glanced briefly at the blonde with her arms still outstretched across the tile wall, glared oddly at me, then continued cautiously towards a stall.  Quickly, I handed the girl her cell phone and made a dash for the door.  As it closed behind me she squealed in a loud, excited voice.  “Thank you so much!!  I don’t know WHAT I would have done without you.  You just made my butt look SO hot and fine!” 

     Granny also said, “You are judged by the company you keep.”  Funny how the meaning of things change as circumstances do.  But I figure it’s still good advice–from any angle–no matter how you look at it. 

    (*Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” a memoir of the 13 years she cared for her grandmother who had Alzheimer’s.  http://www.helen-hudson.com)

     

     

  • THE TOP TEN REASONS MOTHERS NEED DOGS BEFORE KIDS

    Only one person wished me Happy Mother’s Day this morning:  the dog.  (Granted, no one else was up yet, but isn’t that how it is?)  Actually, she greets me EVERY day as if I am the most wonderful creature on the planet.  My kids used to be like that.  They’re teenagers now.  So on this happy occasion let me share a few things this little mutt has taught me that I wish I had known BEFORE I gave birth. 

    1.  “No” is very effective about the zillionth time you say it.  If you cave before that they just don’t get the point.

    2.  If you don’t want them to do something, like chew the buttons off your blouse, whatever you do, DO NOT TRY TO GET THE BLOUSE!  Give them a nice, dirty sock instead.  Otherwise you’ll end up with a ripped blouse.

    3.  If they want to play, play with them.  Otherwise they will hound you until you simply cannot do whatever it is that might be more important than playing with them at that exact moment. 

    4.  When they get too wound up, pick them up and hold them.  They’ll calm down eventually.

    5.  If they bark at strangers you aren’t sure of—let ‘em bark.  Otherwise, get yourself a nice, pair of earplugs cause they’re gonna bark. 

    6.  If you have to give them a nasty-tasting pill, don’t tell them, “It’s yummy” and insist they eat it.  Play ‘Keep Away,”  and don’t let them have it.  When they finally get it they’ll pretend to like it even if they don’t.

    7.  Don’t pick up after them.  That chewed up, muddy shoe is on their bed for a reason.

    8.  They’ll eat when they’re hungry.  Just put the food out.

    9.  If they suddenly bark at you or nip you on the leg for absolutely NO reason at all, don’t try to figure out why.  They don’t know either. 

    10.  Leash them up at night or you never know WHERE they’ll end up in the morning.

    When my grandmother was raising me, she had already owned a dog.  This stuff was second nature to her.  I had to learn the hard way.  So, to all you new mothers out there this morning:  before your little ones grow up, GET A DOG!!!

    (Helen Hudson is the author of “Kissing Tomatoes,” a memoir of caring for her grandmother who had Alzheimer’s.  http://helen-hudson.com. )


  • WALK LIKE A MAN!

    My husband ruptured a disc in his back several weeks ago.  Despite the many pain medications his doctor has proffered, he is still in agony and barely able to navigate from bedroom to kitchen.  So, on the eve of our 31st anniversary, I drove to purchase him a cane.   

    As I parked at Walgreens, a very, tall man was getting into the car next to me.  Suntanned and well-groomed, I noticed that he still had some dark hair in his sideburns that refused to go white.  Figured he was an ex-athlete, likely basketball.  When I noticed he had a crutch under each arm, I assumed he injured himself playing sports.

    “You look about 6’ 7”,” I said as we came face to face.

    “I used to be,” he replied, “until I shrunk.”

    It was only then I realized he was missing an entire leg.  At 17, while driving a tractor on his dad’s farm, he was thrown off into the oncoming scythe of the thresher.  Said he has a prosthesis but it’s “a lot more comfortable without it.”  No wonder.  Even without his leg, he moves like a WHOLE man.

    As we part, I imagine what my own 17 would have been like with only one leg.  I was crazy for dancing and twirled and twisted across too many floors to remember.  While I can no longer do the limbo, I can still dance.  Made me walk taller just thinking about it.

    Driving home with a new, blue cane for my husband, I am grateful he has both legs though he can’t use them well now.  I think of the woman I met with Alzheimer’s who cannot walk, not because she lacks legs, but has forgotten how.  I remember the boy I met in college who was born with no legs. 

    At the corner, a young man with pants so low that I can see the heart tattoo on his right buttock, waits for the light to change.  When it does, he shuffles slowly across in the slouched-style of an old man.  I want to roll down the window and yell, “Walk Like A Man!”  So I do.  He straightens to attention as if shot by a rifle.  As his eyes meet mine, I smile and add, “While you still can.”  (Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,”a memoir of the years she and her husband cared for her grandmother with Alzheimer’s). 

    http://www.helen-hudson.com  


     

     

     

     

  • ONE IN TEN

    How dare TIME magazine announce:  “Alzheimer’s:  At last, some progress against the most stubborn disease.”  Imagine my disappointment to read merely the same old stuff:  It’s hereditary.  No drug cures it.  Some have side effects worse than the disease itself.  We still spend 5 billion a year on cancer research and only 500 million a year on Alzheimer’s.  So where’s the progress?  Slow in coming.  “Ironically, it is the one disease that most of us are likely to get,” says Dr. Peterson, head of Alzheimer’s research at the Mayo Clinic.  One in ten of us if you want the exact statistic.

    Now I don’t need statistics to tell me my own prognosis is not looking so hot.  My grandmother lingered for 13 years in its stranglehold.  My mother may well have had it but other ills took her sooner.  This week, though, brings another blow:  my aunt, the one with the doctorate, who edited my college papers and never let me get away with ‘shallow thinking,’ has just been diagnosed with it, too.

    The signs were there:  Last year, she sent me a copy of her Will along with a partial recipe for shortcake with the last paragraph inexplicably cut off.  The year before, after her recent visit to China, I invited her to visit.  She was always independent, so I rented her a car.  However, after watching her turn the ignition two more times while it was already running I returned it and kept her with me for the rest of our visit.

    I am still keeping her with me though ‘she’ is vanishing fast.  The authors that she insisted I read in college: Whitman, Frost, Voltaire, and Shakespeare, still stand tall in my bookshelf.  Believe it or not, I can still do a perfect cart-wheel just the way she taught me when I was 12.  ‘Now hold your arms and legs into a perfect ‘X,’ she commanded, ‘then roll straight over like a wheel.’   My aunt didn’t just outsmart me at Bridge and Scrabble when I was a kid, but always showed me how she did it.  She questioned my answers until my answers became questions themselves and I loved her for it.  Still do.  Always will.  The important thing is that when she was here she was HERE.  May the rest of us be so fortunate.  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” an Alzheimer’s memoir.   http://www.helen-hudson.com).

  • BE MY VALENTINE!!!

    I love the company of men.  Just came off the tennis court with three of them after winning the tiebreaker.  The two who lost weren’t thrilled but they were gracious losers and even complimented me on being, “one helluva retriever.”  Men play at sports and life, with an enthusiastic, ‘come what may’ attitude that I am still trying to master.  They don’t get wound up in the pettiness of everyday nothings, which drives us women nuts when we want to TALK about them!

    For example, if I walk into the sauna and it’s filled with guys I am greeted by hearty “Hello’s,” football stories and political debates.  If there are only women. . .silence abounds.  Today, for example there were 6 guys and 3 women sitting elbow to elbow.  Since it was too crowded to move, I suggested that, “we all do toe exercises!”  The guys thought it was a fun idea and immediately began taking off their sandals.  The women left.

    Now don’t get me wrong, men still drive me crazy.  I have been married to one for 30 years who STILL cannot find the ketchup in the refrigerator!!  Even my teenage daughters are non-plussed by his scarce recognition of how things work in his own home.  (He once called me in front of them to ask, ‘Honey?  Which one is the washer?’)  Oh, yes he did.

    This Valentine’s Day, I gave the girls stuffed ladybugs with chocolates inside.  My husband gave us miniature, mechanical robots and took great delight watching them run across the floor and crash into things.  He’s the fun one.  Not me.  I just replace the batteries.

    Growing up, I always longed to be a boy.  They just seemed to have more fun.  But my grandmother always said, “You’ll change your mind someday, Dear.  Men and women are different for a REASON.”  She was right.  I have finally figured out that reason.  We are here to show them where the ketchup is.  They are here to finish it up and turn it into a sprayer for the dog.

    Oh, something else happened this Valentine’s Day:   Someone sent me a dozen roses!  It was NOT my husband.  We are both mystified as to the sender because there was no card.  But my guess?  It was a guy!!!  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” a memoir of her grandmother’s years with Alzheimer’s.  http://www.helen-hudson.com).

     

  • ALZHEIMER’S? HMMM. . .

    Picture this:  me backstroking in the middle of my half mile swim.  Have the lane all to myself and starting to pick up speed, which at my age is relative.  Thinking how I can’t wait until it’s over.  Then. . .smash.  Suddenly, I collide with my friend, Forest, who in his Alzheimer’s state of bliss has no clue what has just happened.  He has plunked himself into my lane without so much as a second thought or look.

    “Oh,” he says with a gurgle.  “There you are.  I haven’t seen you in a while.”  Now this length of conversation is the longest we have had yet.  And, the most lucid.  Every day his caregiver sits on a bench at the end and waits as he wades back and forth in his flowered swim trunks and duck-like pool shoes.  He doesn’t swim exactly, rather plods from one end to the other with a laissez-faire stroll that would make a Persian cat jealous.

    “Well, Hi, Forest,” I smile.   “It’s not a good day for climbing trees,” he confides.  “You’re right,” I reply.  “That’s why it’s a good thing we’re in the pool.”  Now I have to figure out my next move.  The lane next to us is open but if I move over it might hurt his feelings.  So, I continue.  Each time we get close, I pause until he passes and go on.

    Just as I start my last lap, we reach the end at the same time.  “Hey, Forest,” I suddenly chide, “Wanna chase me?”  “Oh, Yes!” he says.  And with great anticipation on his face, Forest begins to ‘chase’ me.  I do the backstroke as he pursues.  His flowered trunks balloon around his hips like small sails.  I can tell he has picked up his pace, but no one watching would see a difference.  I don’t let him catch me, of course.  Just watch this grown man trying to come after me with all the glee of a young boy in pursuit of a rabbit; in this case, a ‘gray hare.’

    I am already halfway up the steps to leave as he arrives.  “That was fun!” I say.  “Yes,” he smiles.  “And you are looking GOOD!”  “Well, so are you,” I reply.  At that moment, a rather large, buxom blonde steps down into his lane.  As I turn to leave, I hear him say, “I haven’t seen you in a while. . .”  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” a nonfiction memoir of the 13 years she and her husband cared for her grandmother with Alzheimer’s.  http://www.helen-hudson.com)

     

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