Celery
Ever have trouble convincing your kids to eat vegetables? How about a 59-year-old husband? When George accidentally dropped a piece of celery on the floor during dinner, Prince jumped right on it. Sniffed it. Turned it over with his nose. Sniffed again. Then walked away. George takes this as a sign we should never eat celery again. After all, if the dog won’t eat it—a dog that sometimes eats his own poop—just what does that say about celery?
Waiting
I’m not good at waiting. Never have been. Please don’t text that you’re stopping by my house in a few minutes because my day will be completely lost until you arrive. I won’t want to start a television show that will be interrupted. I won’t want to play the piano because I might not hear the doorbell. I won’t want to sit on the potty because, dang it, you might ring just about the time I get comfortable. And then, of course, there’s the anxiety about my dog, Prince, who is not fond of visitors or doorbells. If I know exactly when you’ll arrive, I can put him in the back yard and maybe—just maybe—have a few minutes to welcome you before he tries to come through the window for you. If I put him out too far in advance,...
Dancing
I’ve never been a dancer. The ballet performances I did at age six for my mother, wearing my homemade tutu, a slip that was silky at top and flared out in rough crinoline at the bottom, would never have drawn applause from anyone else. It takes a bit more than passion to please an audience. I did the twist, the jerk and the pony when listening to music with my preteen friends in the confines of one of our homes. But do any of those dances in public? No. I survived school dances as a teen because by moving in rhythm with the music, I looked like I knew what I was doing. Of course, slow dancing with a boyfriend was a piece of cake since there wasn’t much movement involved beyond making sure you weren’t separated by even a fraction of an inch....
Music
Our home, when I was born, was the second floor of Melba and Harold Hyde’s house near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Though the Hydes were my parents’ landlords, they became like family to us, so we often shared meals in their kitchen. After dinner, Harold would move to his old upright piano, set his can of beer on top, and begin to entertain. He didn’t use print music; he just curled his fingers on the keyboard and played the music living in his head. When I grew old enough to stand, I would get as close as I could, gripping the edge of the piano bench to keep my balance, and watch his fingers dance across the keys. I was mesmerized by the beautiful sounds he created. We moved to our own house when I was two, leaving the piano behind, but while...
Wrap-around
I was in third grade when my mother sewed a pretty blue wrap-around skirt for me, a simple style that encircled my body a couple times and tied at the waist with a long belt. It was my favorite color and I couldn’t wait to wear it, even though it was January and the skirt was made of thin cotton fabric. Mother suggested I save it for spring when the weather was warmer, but I was too impatient. In the sixties, little girls always wore dresses or skirts to school, so winters were a challenge, especially at recess. I wore tall socks and boots but depended on a knee-length wool coat to keep my thighs warm. The day I wore the skirt was especially cold. My thick wool socks, sweater, and coat did little to protect the mid-section of my body so I ran while my class...
Skirt
On the days I play piano at the retirement home I dress a little nicer than my usual jeans. I do it out of respect, knowing it’s how my parents would dress were they still living. This particular day, I wore a skirt that was navy blue with white polka dots, along with a yellow sweater, a classy outfit I ordered from Lands End a couple years ago. At the conclusion of the program, one elderly woman surprised me by saying, “That skirt is so pretty! I have one just like it!” Seriously? I know I’m old at sixty but am I really dressing like an eighty-year-old? “Don’t you just love wearing it?” she asked. Not any more, I thought. Not any more.
Granny
My friend, Sarah, who works as a nanny for two adorable girls, ages three and five, also coaches a girls’ volleyball team. Her two charges were with her at a recent game, one that I happened to see. When I walked into the gym, Lucy and Nora gave me excited hugs, causing the nearby referee to ask, “Are these your grandkids?” I am a grandmother, but I wasn’t aware that I looked like one. Until then. The question, one I have never before been asked, shocked me. And I was shocked that I was shocked. And then I was shocked that I was shocked that I was shocked…. You get the idea. This is my sixtieth year and I joke about being old, but I wasn’t aware that I really look old. I pushed aside my shock, gave the man an answer, and tried to...
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