My Inspiration

My mother had five really sucky years before she moved on to whatever's next. As did her sister, my Aunt Mary. I'm talking really sucky. Parkinson's Disease froze my mom so she couldn't talk or move. Three horrific diseases confined Aunt Mary to bed for years. Privacy became a thing of the past. Bed sores oozed. Legs got jammed into Iron Maidens. Liquids got thickened to the texture of whipped prunes. Drooling became a bodily function. In general, the two women who made me who I am today got the shaft from whoever it is that decides what precedes death.

Fortunately neither lost her sense of humor.

Because of aides and helpers, both used catalogs to send gifts. One day, my mother received a beautiful pillow from her sister. It was clearly hand embroidered; a Grandma Moses-like figure rocked peacefully in an antique rocker; a handmade quilt on her lap. All who saw it fantasized their future to be quiet, tranquil and serene--until they read the beautifully scripted letters: "Screw the Golden Years." My mother rested her battered body on it proudly.

So here I am, 64 and counting--waiting for the shit to hit the fan. Waiting for the Iron Maidens, waiting for someone else to wipe my butt, waiting for--okay, looking toward--okay, anticipating-okay, dreading--my golden years.

I figured I'd use this blog to help others wade through this muck called life, particularly the side that's closer to the end than the beginning. I don't consider myself old. Egomaniac that I am, I'll go with wise or experienced or perhaps just a self-centered bitch. Whatever. I have some things to say, and I figured this was a good way to go about delivering my sermons.

Unfortunately, I think my first problem is developing an audience. If I've been told correctly, lots of people my age don't or can't or won't use computers, much less figure out how to pull up a blog from an unknown schmuck who thinks she knows the secrets of growing older gracefully. This pisses me off. Grow up. Keep up. Shut up and use what's left of your savings and buy a Mac. Find yourself a "Genius," (Apple supplies them free of charge; oh yeah, and it helps if he looks good without his shirt. Here's a tip: Don't spend a lot of time on this: Not many of them do.), and say verbatim: "My name's Ruth, and I'm old, and I haven't kept up, but I need to read this blog about screwing." Better yet, get your granddaughter to stop TXTing long enough to fire up her laptop and come to my blog. Buy her some black lipstick. She'll be thrilled.

There's nothing I hate more than when I strike up a conversation with someone my age and he or she starts moaning about the good ol' days. Mine were good--mostly. But they were--and here's the important part--OLD. They're gone. They've shriveled up and reside only in a tiny brain cell in the back or your cerebral cortex. It takes more energy to conjure them up than it does to plod forward and attempt to grab a piece of this newly electronic world, which is whirling past us at the speed of light. Yeah, you're right. The world used to move more slowly. Now we do. But that's no excuse. I'd rather die twittering than crocheting. Don't get me wrong: I don't pick up things like I used to. It took my kids and friends weeks to teach me how to use Facebook, and I still mess things up occasionally. Hell, it'll probably take me two days to figure out how to pull up my own blog. But at least I know what people are talking about when they bring it up. I don't push this on people as a way for them to fritter their time away. I do so because of the freakin' amazing amount of information out there that is fingertips away. Don't dump it. You'll be amazed (and shocked and embarrassed and changed) at what you learn. Do it for yourself; do it for your soul.

So that's my lesson for today. Unfortunately, it's kind of ridiculous since the people I'm talking to can't get to me. So to kids or neighbors. Don't just shovel your parents' or grandparents' or shit your great grandparents' driveway when you need a couple of extra bucks. Do them (and me?) a favor and read this to them today. Then promise them you'll help them shuffle on down to Best Buy and buy a computer. I'd hate for them to miss my next post--which is about sex.