Tag Archives: aging

A Single Cardboard Box

Eloise sat back in her chair and sighed.   This would be her final move. It was a hard one, leaving so much behind. But it was time. She thought about her husband of 61 years, Elliot. He’d been gone for a while now but she was managing. He’d always loved that about her:  her ability to adapt.

Hands clasped loosely on her lap, legs demurely crossed at the ankle. She had been taught to be a lady but she also knew when not to be. Something else Elliott loved about her.  She smiled to herself. As she raised her head her eyes caught the single cardboard box resting on the edge of the bed.  How is it possible for 92 years to fit inside one single box?

There were so many memories. Dipping her toes into three oceans over her lifetime. That midnight buffet on the cruise ship. The smile became a chuckle as she remembered poor Elliot looking for his shoes in a strange motel after a very long night. He eventually found them in the refrigerator! They had laughed all the way to Albuquerque. Good memories.

There were camping trips with four active and insatiably curious children. And then the children’s children, there seemed to be so many of them. She remembered the strange noises a sleeping child makes and the wild-eyed wonder when they saw something for the first time. Learning to read, learning to walk, learning to slow down. That was always the hard one. But they did it together. Eloise and Elliot. It had lovely ring to it. What a great partnership they had. And that partnership didn’t die when he did. She slept with a pair of his gloves under her pillow. He was never far from her.

She relaxed a little more in the chair, resting her tired shoulders. And she cast her mind back over her 92 years. She had earned her rest. Her memories of her childhood were all good. She’d had loving parents who had taught her to love the world and to respect what it had to offer. She had grown up with wonderful pets who had taught her humility and selflessness. She had friends who taught her the art of compromise and acceptance and French kissing. Yes, she had learned how to laugh early.  And she laughed often.  She had reason.

They had traveled the world together. Elliott was a wonderful traveler. Except for the shoes.  When the children had come along they too were initiated into that world. First traveling near at home and then farther and farther as they grew older and more capable of appreciating it. And then they too caught the bug. The world was theirs to explore.

As time inexorably moved on so did the children. And then she and Elliot rediscovered the wonders of each other. It was like a second honeymoon and they had enjoyed it for many years. Oh, the children came back to visit. In the beginning it was quite often but as their lives became more and more complicated, that too dwindled off.  That was to be expected.

Most of the children and grandchildren made it back for Elliot’s funeral. It was good to see them, to get reacquainted. But they had their own lives to get back to and in time Eloise was again alone.  That was okay. She had much to occupy her. She had quite a vibrant social life and plenty of friends to keep her company. But there were adjustments. She moved to a condominium and hired a cleaning service. There were even a few male companions who were interested in more than just companionship. They were proper gentlemen when she refused. Her heart still belonged to Elliot. Besides he hadn’t been gone that long. But it was nice to have a man around to escort her to a dance.

The box caught her eye once again. It seem to beckon to her and to mock her. It was her box of treasures, precious memories, tokens worth more than any precious jewel ever could be. A single tear escaped her eye.  She felt sad and more than a little proud. She wondered about the next step in her life. What was still to come? She closed her eyes.

 

*********************************************************************

 

The door burst open! A tall, young; man, strode aggressively into the room.

“Where the hell is the damn thing?”

A few seconds behind him an equally tall woman sashayed into the room somewhat less aggressively.

“They said it was on the end of the bed and you could pick it up at your leisure.  I think it’s important. What do you plan on doing with it?”

The man became a little less forceful as he spotted the single cardboard box just where he had been told it would be.

“It’s just some old trinkets. What possible value could it have? “

 

 

the end

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Kernel of Truth

 

A kernel of truth

From your lips I expect

Instead I am hearing

Of a Colonel you decked?

 

That notwithstanding

I asked for your word

So please be forthcoming

And say what you heard!

 

You swear it’s a bird

That doesn’t make sense

Why would a fowl

Jump over your fence?

 

Lady I’m here

To deal with a crime

So lose all this nonsense

And stop all the rhyme!!

“Excuse me sir?”

 

Sir? Sir? !!!! Many years ago I wrote about being “ma’amed”.   You know the first time a woman is referred to as “Ma’am”. (butterflysand.com/2013/11/10/it-happened-to-me/ ) Well I can now report to my faithful followers that I have been “Sirred”! Please allow me to explain.

I was working around the apartment when it suddenly dawned on me that I needed something immediately. I quickly picked up my wallet and nipped out to the pharmacy. I didn’t stop to brush my hair or put on lipstick or the ubiquitous mascara. I simply left my apartment. There’s a red light where I needed to cross the street and I was forced to stop for a few moments to allow traffic to pass by. Seconds later a very nice car with two gentlemen in it made a right hand turn in front of me. (perfectly legal) Through the open window I heard one gent say to the other: “It’s Open, it’s open!” I wasn’t eavesdropping, I was less than 4 feet away. They pulled around the corner and stopped at the curb.

To put things into context: the car was behind me and off to my right. Directly behind me was the liquor store. One man got out of the car and raced the five or six feet to the building. At which point I heard a rattling and a question: “Excuse me sir? Do you have the time?”

I was the only other person around.  Now I have never considered myself a mean person. I try not to make fun of people because they don’t understand something. I’ve always been proud of the fact that I am definitely a woman. And in all my 58 years I have never, ever been confused for a man. Never! Until today.

The truth is I had just had my hair cut very short. Fewer trips to the hair salon as my hair grows rather quickly. This man also appeared to be in some distress. So I guess I shouldn’t judge. But seriously, sir?  He did see me from behind. My hair is short. I am sitting in a wheelchair so it does hide some pretty apparent female attributes when seen from the back. I did correct him as I turned around. And then I gave him the time as requested. But it rankled!

This happened several days ago but still I can’t stop thinking about it. I fantasized that he was a raging alcoholic and was so hung over that he could barely make out the fact that I was human. He wasn’t stumbling so that might be out. Then there’s a thought that he was blind but knew there was someone there as I do have a deep voice…… nope. I didn’t speak until spoken to and he didn’t have a white cane so that probably isn’t it. Then I hypothesized he was an alien from Alpha Centuari and didn’t understand the sexes. Ha ha ha!

What this incident really did was show me how sensitive I am about things that have no real importance in my life. He was a stranger who misspoke. He didn’t mean any harm. He did not mean to disrespect me. He was in a hurry. He should not be judged negatively for something as inconsequential as a pronoun.

When did I become so vain? Yes, yes I would admit to a certain amount of vanity. I think we all have to admit to that. But it isn’t the end of the world, yet. And something wonderful did come out of this: my Sunday post!