The Hard Rock Nursing Home

Once when I was young and sassy and full of spit and vinegar, an older woman I was traveling with asked to borrow a pair of tweezers. To extract a chin hair. I was appalled. I was grossed out. I could barely look her in the eye as I handed over the Tweezermans. Man, if something that hideous ever happened to me, I would never admit it, much less announce it in a room with mixed company. What was next, I wondered. Would we compare bowel movements? I literally ran from that room, carefully erasing the whole incident from my mind.

Well, time has passed. I know things now that I wish I had been spared. That ignorant, young person that was me, is an older, droopier, hairier person now. Notice I didn’t say wiser. This is probably a good place to wax eloquent on the circle of life, and the maiden-mother-crone archetype, but, … not gonna go there.

Periodically I try to remind myself that things could not only be worse, they almost inevitably will get worse. I need to live in the moment. In twenty years, when I look back of a photo of myself now, I am sure to think “Wow, I was waaaaay hot then!”. I mean, comparatively.

I figure I will end up in a nursing home. A Boomer nursing home. Where they play elevator music of the Stones to calm us old fogies down. Our parties in the dining room will have well meaning volunteers from local youth organizations dressed up as hippies and disco fiends, dancing away to entertain us. Hell, who knows, pot may be legal then, and they may dole out joints to keep us all mellow and agreeable. As long as we don’t smoke in bed. And I certainly hope the Depends will be biodegradable. And that we will be able to gum the crunchy granola. While we watch “The Big Chill” at our matinees.

I figure along with the Alzheimer’s I am bound to get Tourettes. I mean, let’s face it, already I have lost some control over what comes out of my mouth. Much as I like to attribute that to being older, more confident and assertive, I’m not fooling anybody. I am a smartass. When a thought hits my brain, next thing you know, it’s on speaker phone. It’s getting worse. I mean, for god’s sake, I am blogging!

After going through the hospice experience with my mom, I told the Baby that when I get incontinent, she can have me put down. I was only half joking. She is such a great kid, and she quickly reassured me. She told me if that ever happened, she would find a person of the illegal alien persuasion to put towels under me. If that didn’t pan out, then, only then, would she euthanize me. Gotta love that kid. Acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?

Hey, do you think we’ll have laptops in the nursing home?

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