23 Skidoo!

My favorite song of all time.... fast forward to 2:10 if you don't appreciate instrumentals.

There's something about old people that simultaneously brings me great joy and great sadness.

I spent the morning with my dear grandma, Harriet. She is not the subject of this post. Harriet is 86 years-young and is sharp, keen, and sprigh as they come. Harriet would win first place in the "Most Kick Ass Grandma Contest," if there were such a contest. And it would be a unanimous decision. Today Harriet let me come with her to the Arcadia Community Senior Center where every Tuesday she volunteers, serving lunch to the elderly (and I use "elderly" loosely. 90% of these people were younger than her- Exhibit A of how much Harriet kicks ass). These so-called elderly folk are the subjects of this post.

Old people remind me of the "good ol' days," which I often pine for and wish I had experienced first hand. Whenever anyone over the age of seventy-five talks about the Depression, The War, or just the "simpler times" of the '50s/'60s, I get all giddy and nostalgic (is it possible to experience nostalgia if you weren't around to actually experience that for which you feel nostalgia?). Anyway, I truly believe we are on the brink of losing the few gems left of the last great generation, and that saddens me. Anyone who knows me knows my love for the 1929-1972 time period. But even as I try to live life putting forth my best effort to sustain and even rejuvenate the unparalleled charms of this era (i.e. cheek-to-cheek dancing to the stylings of the Glenn Miller Orchestra- *cough* Megan Psyllos *cough*, forcing everyone I know to watch my favorite film, "Auntie Mame," or using phrases such as "that's the bee's knees!"), I feel the enchantment and the honorable values of this priceless American era quickly fading. Old people are the last relics of this great living history, and should be valued as such.

On the other hand, being around the elderly reminds me of the wretched future I have to look forward to. Thanks to soccer, my outstanding physical health has gone to hell. Hellllooooo hip, knee, ankle, foot, -insert appendage here- replacement by the age of 30. I am scared to death of not being able to walk faster than a snail or having the shakes so bad I can't read a newspaper. But my number 1 fear of growing old BY FAR is the prospect of Alzheimer's and/or dementia. I had to watch my Grandma Ozzie suffer from that soul-sucking condition and though he/she who has it may not know or care, it causes a world of pain to your loved ones. After one particular visit to my Grandma's assisted living facility, I made my brother Danny promise that the day I can't remember my family members' names is the day he must slip poison into my food. As someone with a bit more forethought than a 22 year-old should have, I've already composed my Last Will and Testament. I have it written that past the age of fifty I shall under no circumstances have an autopsy, so Danny will be in the clear.

Excuse the Alzheimer's digression. Back to growing old- also NOT looking forward to the incessant gobbling of meds... I don't want to spend my twilight years doped up on blood pressure meds, cholesterol meds, heart meds, colon health meds, bladder meds, etc etc etc etc etc meds. The day I have one of those pill boxes with the 7 compartments labeled "M T W TH F S SU" is the day my life officially ends; well, at least marks the beginning of the final act. And from what I've observed, unlike the theatre the final act of one's life is boring, painful, and riddled with unease.

So as I stood behind the counter slopping yams onto those styrofoam trays, my heart and mind were vacillating between joy and grief as I chit-chatted with these beautiful elderly souls whose bodies were failing them.

Two things to take away from this post:

1. Youth is fleeting- go enjoy it.
2. Never pass up the opportunity to have a conversation with the elderly. They'll have both great stories and life lessons to be heeded.