As I read a story to my granddaughter a few years back, I heard myself answer her question about the lady in the book.
“What is elderly?” Kianna wondered.
“You know, old, like a grandmother.” I tried to explain.
I am a grandmother. Therefore I am old.
I’ve known for years that I do not move fast. Now I know why.
I know. I hear you. Age is just a number.
Then why does my hip hurt when I wake up in the morning? As I drag it to the bathroom [as fast as I can] I imagine being asked what’s wrong.
Oh… I hurt myself… sleeping.
I need to have a story ready so I won’t give away the fact that I am… old.
“Yep. I hurt myself climbing off the… um… roof of the church. I was rescuing a kitty-cat….
No. Make that a toddler. That’s right. A child escaped from the nursery and climbed on top of the church and I had to go up there and get him down. Caught my foot on the downspout and jerked my hip out of joint. Had to pop that sucker back in. Yep. Caused me to limp a little. No big deal. Just so the children are safe.”
Too bad growing old isn’t considered noble. In China it still is. [Not that China does a lot right.] But when our daughter Stephanie was there she was given the “honor” of sleeping next to the grandmother in one village. Believe me. At our house, that is a noisy honor any grandchild will willingly pass up for a mat on the floor of the dining room.
Maybe I should have a story ready about that too.
“Yep, I worked for years sniffing out drugs at the airport. I have super olfactory skills and have kept our nation safe from foreign substances since 1973 when I graduated high school.
Wait. Make that 1993.
Causes me to snore a little…”