The Wallpaper Era
I thought this to be a good series to start here. I remember Ronni, on As Times Goes By, a brilliant blog on aging, was such a help to many of us (many of us still in our sixties and seventies back then) telling us what to expect and not to expect. Sadly, she died about six years ago. Cancer.
This brought to light for me a conversation with the brother who is nearest in age to me. He turns 80 this November and has just survived major surgery to remove a large tumour from his lung. It appears to be benign, but his team is keeping a close eye on it.
On our family Zoom (siblings only) last Sunday, he shared this new, to him, phenomenon, from his hospital bed. He has had more visitors to his hospital room than he has had in all of last year. His sons, their spouses, their children, As they gathered in his hospital room, he noticed that all the conversations took place around him, not with him. If he voiced any kind of opinion, he was thrown a benign look, and the conversation carried on, ignoring whatever he had injected into their talk.
I laughed. I said to him "You are now in the Wallpaper Era of your life." "What?" he said, and I told him. The Wallpaper Era, a time period I may have invented, but I stand to be corrected, is when the youngers around you pretend to listen to you, discount what you are saying, and carry on chatting with each other as if you are the simpleton in the room, indulged, but basically ignored. "That's it exactly!" he said and cracked up too. Note: this brother has lived all over the world, worked with the famous and well-known, designed buildings, became an expert on renovating historic buildings, etc. He's still as sharp as a tack.
I noticed this again last Christmas at a huge family gathering. So many youngers, who are delightful, and I love their conversations and intelligence. But there was this ignoring of the only elder in the gathering, moi. No matter what I said, there's this look of indulgence on their faces, unconscious, I am sure. And I know whatever I say will be tolerated. But what the hell would I know? I'm ancient and live in some yesterday they only read about in history books. Imagine, no smart phones, no TV, maybe a radio, no Spotify? What on earth would I have to offer that's in any way interesting? And I don't blame them. I don't show them my Spotify, the fact that I add new songs all the time that take my fancy, that I keep current on many topics. That I write published articles.
For I am guilty of the same with my elders when I was young. Found them quaint, found them laughable when they looked in horror at my mini-skirts, found their hobbies amusing but, bless them, time-filling for them. I put in brief appearances when they were gathered, these oldies who distrusted planes and motor-bikes and independence for women.
What goes around comes around.
And we only learn through our own experiences.
Unfortunately.
We are unprepared.
We are, suddenly, wallpaper.
