Finding What We Seek

I find it interesting how an offhanded remark can revisit my mind for years, while a discussion of much more importance can quickly vanish from it, seemingly without a trace. Years ago, while I was attending a classy evening affair featuring cocktails, dinner and dancing, one of several young women sitting at my table jokingly announced, “That will be us one day.”   She said it while observing two much older ladies delightfully enjoying a waltz with one another on the dance floor.  You get the visual:  the young women were stylish, coiffed and escorted by handsome men donned in tuxedos.  The older ones?   Not.  The comment haunted me for several decades.   

For years, I worried.  Would that, indeed, be me one day?  Gray hair, wrinkled skin, sagging bosom, nylon stockings rolled just above the knee so that bare skin shows when my dress rides up and gets stuck in the waistband of my underpants.   Perhaps it was the part about the men, or lack thereof that got to me the most.  It could have been the older women just gave up on asking their husbands to accompany them, but chances are there simply were no men around with whom they might dance.  Mortality statistics tell us that men die earlier than women, and the gender imbalance increases with age.  Working among the 65+ crowd, I see it every day.  A woman facing life alone following the death of her husband.  In itself, that is not astonishing.  The grace with which many of them do so is. 

 

Psychological studies show happiness is not a product of the events in our lives, but of our response to those events.  It doesn’t matter if we’re wealthy, educated, young or old, single or married.  These studies tell us that happiness depends on facing life, no matter what comes at us, with a positive attitude. Smile a lot, remember the good things and enjoy the moment are among other prevailing strategies in almost all studies of happiness.  I found the generalized happiness information in the form of a pamphlet.  It was directed toward incoming freshmen at a university campus mental health fair.

Interestingly enough, many older ladies, especially the ones you might see dancing with one another, seem to get it, even without the benefit of a college education.  Some of them were children during the Great Depression and came of age during World War II.   For others who came later, it was the Korean War.   Journalist Tom Brokaw, calls them in his book of the same name, “The Greatest Generation.”   They faced rough times, worked hard and lived productive lives.  Now, in their later years, they take time to smile, remember the good things and enjoy the moment, even if that means dancing with your “lady friend” as my grandmother was in the habit of saying.   I see a lot of that these days.  Ladies who can barely stand without a cane, patiently waiting their turn to dance with the female activities director at the assisted living center.  She prefers they dance with her, rather than each other to offset the likelihood of someone taking a tumble.    

Cheek to Cheek was written by Irving Berlin for the 1935 film classic Top Hat featuring the dancing team of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.   In attempting to win her heart, Fred’s character croons to Ginger’s, “and I seem to find the happiness I seek … while we’re out together dancing … cheek to cheek.”  Perhaps that’s where the grace comes in, finding the happiness we seek wherever it might be. 

As I get older, I try to worry less about my autumn years, and pay more attention to the lessons I can learn from those who are already there.  At times, I even find myself making mental notes, remember not to act crabby like so and so, be pleasant like her sister  …  By the way, if you pass by me on the dance floor thirty years from now while I’m dancing with my lady friend, will you give the back of my dress a little yank?

Copyright © 2011 by Carol M.W. Bagazinski – All Rights Reserved.

The Sound of Silence

Political blog writers use the notion of chirping crickets to signal that the author believes he has made a point that the hypothetical opponent cannot answer. The use of *crickets* or *chirp chirp* in his text represents the rival’s imaginary silence because he has been rendered speechless. It suggests the only thing one can hear is the sound of the singing insects.

During recent months, I have been haunted by such a sound. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you view political debate, it is not a result of reading too many opinionated blogs. One night, I actually opened a window in an effort to determine if one of the noisy pests – a cricket, not a political essayist - had somehow entered the house. I smiled in spite of myself when I realized the sound was, literally, in my head. You know how it is when you ask your companion, “Is it me or …? In this case, the question was, “Is it me or is there a cricket in the house?” Given that it was early April and still snowing outside, I knew it was most likely me, but it never hurts to get a second opinion. I was right. It was me. More accurately, it was my ears. My otolaryngologist (ear doctor) confirmed it – tinnitus – or ringing in the ears. He tells me patients often describe the sound as that of chirping crickets. Really? As it turns out, I have an ear disorder that, one day down the road, could render me hearing impaired. If that happens, studies show I’ll have plenty of company.

Approximately 30 percent of the population, between the ages of 65 and 74, experience problems with their hearing, according to the National Institute on Aging. The percentage increases along with age. Working among the elderly, I am surprised the number isn’t larger. It is disheartening to know someone who could benefit from the use of a hearing aid, but will not consider it. Oftentimes, vanity is to blame. Today’s hearing aids are very discreet, and although cartoons are now the only place you’ll actually see one, images of the old-fashioned ear trumpet still come to mind for many. Hearing aids are also very expensive, and not often covered by health insurance. Given the new models, vanity is not an issue. Yes, they are expensive, but the benefits are priceless.

As most people do, my mom suffered from hearing loss for close to seven years before she consulted an audiologist. Every so often, my family enjoys a good laugh while telling stories about the communication mishaps that occurred before she wore hearing aids. Once, while she was observing my children build Lego© boats, Noah, then seven, referred to his younger brother’s as “a little ship.” Not paying careful attention to their play, she didn’t hear it that way. Calling me into the room, she insisted that the use of inappropriate language and name calling should not be tolerated. My mom demanded action. Noah pleaded innocence. I could only shrug and suggest that everyone calm down. Now it’s funny. It wasn’t at the time. I had grown weary of similar misunderstandings taking place on a regular basis. (The joke won’t go away. At times, the older boys still refer to the youngest one as “a little ship.”)

I was elated when she finally agreed to address the problem. Suggesting to my mother that a hearing aid could vastly improve her quality of life, the recommending geriatric specialist handed us a long list of nearby providers. Overwhelmed by its length, I asked if perhaps they could recommend just one or two. The office assistant said the risk of liability would not allow them to do so, but with a wink suggested I take a good look at the list. In doing so, I discovered that one name had been starred and highlighted in yellow. We were on our way.

It hadn’t occurred to me just how long it had been since I last chatted with my mom until she was fitted with her hearing aids. Up until then, I basically shouted what needed to be said and nothing more. Conversation had become painstakingly difficult. Although I had noticed that she rarely participated in conversations with others, it totally slipped by me that we were not talking to each other much either. I don’t remember what the weather outside was like the day we picked up the first pair, but I do know the chitchat in the car on the ride home was warm and sunny. As it is for many, our road to better hearing was long and arduous, however, the final destination was delightful. *chirp chirp*


Copyright ©2011 by Carol M.W. Bagazinski – All Rights Reserved.