Have you ever pondered growing old? Have you ever given any thought to what it will be like when you
are old? What is old, anyway? Are you
really as old as you feel? Will you even get to experience what it is like being old? Follow me back to yesteryear. ~ It's the late '40s and a little girl is sitting on the kitchen counter intently listening to an old radio series
, Sargent Preston of the Yukon. "C'mon you huskies" he says hurriedly, while you hear the howling of the wind whipping the frigid air and
you can see the snow swirling around him, "we haven't much time." You hear the dogs yelping and barking in the background, itching to start the run. I don't remember if Dad placed me on the counter top or I climbed up all by myself. I was wearing white socks with lace tops and buckled shoes. There were organdy curtains on the small kitchen window and on the opposite wall was the well-worn kitchen table with one leaf folded. The kitchen was covered in green ivy wallpaper (I still have a piece). In the dining room was mother's mahogany dining room table with the spindly Queen Anne legs and high-backed chairs. My parents' first home, was a very happy one. The country was just getting back on its feet after World War II. You got to our house by driving up and then down a very long hill. The house was situated at the bottom. I remember my best friend Polly and her mother's homemade spaghetti sauce. Even though Polly was Polish that didn't stop her mother. You could smell that wonderful aroma wafting over the entire neighborhood. My mother built a stone wall around the entire house, by hand. It was four feet high. Imagine someone doing that today. The milkman used to deliver milk bottles to our doorstep. We loved scooping out the rich cream at the top. We played in the back yard and there was a swimming hole not too far away. I remember one wintery day I decided I was going to walk across the
frozen pond, thinking it was solid. It wasn't. I went down wearing galoshes, a heavy winter coat and scarf, mittens and hat. One of my friends offered a strong tree limb to me as I had to be pulled out. I was lucky it wasn't that deep. I remember standing in my crib in a pair of diapers in a military hospital after having my tonsils out. I remember there was a window covered with a venetian blind right next to my crib and how fascinated I was by the light from the outside corridor filtering through those blinds onto the opposite wall displaying those shafts of light. I still am, today. I remember my throat hurting and the nurse coming in to give me some ice cream and me throwing up a few minutes afterward. I was three years old. I remember the ordeal of living in a haunted house. Yes, my dears, a real haunted house. Dad and his three daughters were on a search and destroy mission. We decided we had to track the entity down to its hiding place as it was wreaking havoc on all of us including our pets. We found where it was hanging out--under the wet bar. Dad was a seasoned combat veteran so you realize just how serious this matter was to him. We lived in the house for a few more months and then moved. I went back many years later and took some pictures of the house and and its surroundings. To my and my sisters' surprise, the pictures revealed some images that brought back some very bad memories. Note: Life is full of the good, the bad and the ugly. I remember wonderful smells and aromas, laughter, joy, sunny days, happy days. I remember standing in the elementary school yard with my back to the brick wall watching the fluffy clouds rolling by and counting how many faces I could find. I remember sharpening pencils with a pen knife and ink wells and quill pens and large sheets of paper that we used to color on in school that had wood chips embedded within it. I remember cooking on wood stoves and outhouses and hand pumps. A few years later Mom and Dad had saved up enough money to buy their first television. We were so excited as we sat cross legged on the floor and stared up at it, waiting for Dad to plug it in and turn it on. I remember gangly Ruthie and her widowed Mom who lived across the street from us. I remember as Ruthie and I stood mesmerized by the hordes of Japanese Beetles swooning all over the shrubs in her front yard, the first influx
ever of Japanese Beetles into the United States. I remember Shorthand and typewriters. I remember Poodle Skirts and Mini Skirts. I remember when we used to wear hats and gloves to church. I remember old and dear friends. I remember cold, harsh, snowy winters and having to get out to shovel the driveway for Dad (or else). I remember coal-fired furnaces and the fizzle and bump and bang of the hot water radiator as it turned on. I remember chill blains and runny noses, ruddy cheeks and sledding and frozen toes and fingers and giggling, and hot chocolate and marshmallows and Grammy as she laughed in delight as all of us piled into bed with her, trying not to "sleep in the crack" as she had pulled two mattresses together. I remember dandelions, kittens and puppies and ponies and ladybugs and dragonflies butterflies and, of course, fireflies. And we can't forget chocolate. I remember the sweet scent of roses; dazzling sunsets; happy sunrises; the Moon's luminescense. A ride to a dairy farm in my Grandfather's new car and the smell and the feel of the downy gray soft seats. I remember lying in the back of Dad's car and counting the number of street lights as they flickered past the window, watching the shadows as they ran up and down over me. I remember riding in the
rumble seat of Dad's car. That was fun and Dad was so proud of that car. I remember the smell of sweet hay and watching the sheep and coming upon meadows full of tiny yellow flowers and blueberry picking and catching crabs on chunks of chicken and running barefoot in the cold, cold grass in the front yard in December and then wishing I hadn't. My feet hurt! I remember the long trail down back, past the chicken coop with the red curtains and the tea cups and the dollies and the teddy bears and the small table and chairs. I remember the walk through the peaceful forest and studying the enigmatic Lady Slippers and napping on soft green moss and the dark entrance at the bottom of the trail that miraculously opened up onto a huge sunny meadow. You first had to overcome your fear of walking into that dark void. But once you did, a beautiful scene awaited you, on the other side. I remember how tall Major, my Dad's horse, was. Dad would lift me up to pat him on the nose. I remember the mysterious young girl in the faded flower dress who lived in the horse stable along with her new baby. When she smiled at you, you could tell she had not taken care of her teeth as they were all twisted and rotten, discolored from eating too much sugar, I was told. I remember quiet times, memorable times,
but most of all, "Honorable" times. I remember my parents playing Glenn Miller music, my Dad's socks, his medals, his stocky legs, his quiet reverence for all that was good. I remember my mom who was constantly on the move as we lived here and then there. I've lived during WWII, The Korean War, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan. I've grown tired of war and the horrible toll it takes on the best and the brightest of us while the shadowy puppet masters continue to pull the strings, orchestrating the world's never-ending despair and mayhem. I am afraid we are headed in that direction, again. I am concerned for my children and my grandchildren as this world is vomiting up horrible monsters at an incredible rate all the while wobbling wildly out of control. I, on the other hand, have nothing to fear as I have nothing to lose. When I pass I will no longer be here. No longer will I have to worry about paying bills or keeping appointments. No longer will I have to listen to the evening news with sordid details and one bad story after the other. I will be gone so what happens will not affect me but will affect my children and grandchildren. I despise politicians for politicians are all they are. They look out for themselves while putting the rest of us at risk. They speak with forked tongues. They are slave mongers, power brokers and cunning conjurers of ongoing chaos. My children and grandchildren will be forced to bear the brunt of the inconceivable, (maybe) the incorrigible realization of just learning how to survive all over again solely because the politicians
have not done what needs to be done in order to protect us. I've tried to reason with Life; I've tried to understand Life; I've tried to come to terms with Life. I have suffered embarrassment, shame, guilt, remorse, pain, loss, euphoria, depression, humiliation, anger and resentment, among others. I have helped but I have also hurt others. I have forgiven others but have not forgiven myself. I have done things I wished I hadn't. I've made wrong decisions. I've seen where I''m weak, where I need to change and where I've done wrong. I have seen, I have lived, I have fallen but managed to get back up.
Life is a gauntlet-Learn how to sprint. I know up front and personal, the utter futility that can result and the brittle frailty of the term, "just being human". I have soared with the angels and been caught fraternizing with the Devil. We are born, we live, we die. We have come a long way since I was born in 1944. Each generation has something worthwhile to leave behind for the next. What will this generation be noted for?
