Slowing Down

The biggest overall challenge I've had in old age is slowing down. I adhere to the Spoons Theory for a while and then fall off by tackling too much in one day. What I mean by "too much" is one over the one alloted social engagement or two very short walks into stores or restaurants, say with Daughter.

I know this wandering about sounds outrageous in Covid Times but we're had no cases for the last 5 days and everyone is masked and tables are distanced and stores all look different with arrows and wide aisles and everyone following protocols. I know. Extraordinary. Hats off to everyone and particularly our Minister of Health, our Chief Medical Officer and our premier who all happen to be doctors. And whose modus operandi is "An Abundance of Caution," and the nautical term "Hold Fast, Newfoundland." with multiple media appearances and special little chats with children ("Yes, Santa Claus has been vaccinated.")

I tackled too much when Daughter was in here on Saturday. It would sound measly to my 60 year old ears but nowadays, I feel quite pathetically elderly when I have to be mobilised. I recognize my Covid weight isn't helping. But many of us resort to soothing "treats" during this stressful times. And I hold my hand up. And tips to avoid such indulgences would be welcome.

Today is Monday and I am going out later on with George in hand and a grocery order pickup. I had arranged this for Saturday when Daughter was here but the brain has also slowed down and I had forgotten to complete my order by pushing "confirm", another hiccup of old age. There are a few. And I feel inordinately ashamed when my glitches confuse and bother me.

I throw all this stuff out here as I am quite nervous about sharing all these wee failings of mine with anyone close to me. As is the case with most elders. These dangerous and lethal old age homes may await us if we display any kind of incompetence at all. So I am cautious of concentrating on tasks at hand. As I have left burners on and walked away from lit candles. My busy brain needs to offload more files.

Meanwhile I go back to the Spoon Theory and plan my week out more carefully. Life shouldn't be a trudge and a chore even if one's physical energy is severely limited as mine is.

103

I was a tagalong today on a visit to an Old Age Residential Facility. I was in the lobby when I remembered the woman who used to own the old house my daughter now owns here was a resident of this home so I went and visited her.

She is 96 years old and reminds me so strongly of my beloved Auntie Francie that my heart broke just a little when I greeted her.

She is as sharp as a tack. I told her we loved the house she had lived in and my daughter was slowly renovating it. She was delighted.

I know very little about her apart from the fact she got married very late in life to a long time bachelor and "they danced in their kitchen every night of their married lives."

I told her my daughter had put a lovely photo of herself and Benny her husband on the dining room wall. At the mention of Benny she started to cry and told me she missed him every day, he made her so happy. Late gifts were all the sweeter when you waited so long, she said.

To distract her a little I asked about her childhood.

Her mother died when she was 5 she said and for 14 years she was put in a Catholic orphanage in St. John's. The Belvedere, run by the Mercy sisters. And didn't get away from there until she was 18 when her father demanded she come home and take care of his aging mother and him which she did.

"You know," she whispered to me, "I can tell you the secret names of all the girls in the Belvedere".

"Secret names?" I said.

She began to list all the names, ordinary names, Annie O'Brien, Mabel Riordan and so on.

"They don't sound like they should be secret names," I said, smiling at her.

"Oh my darling, but they were, they were. We just had numbers there. I was 103."