Perspective On Aging
Mutterings And MurmursThe Stranger in My House
This is a link to more information on the author.
http://www.seniorwomen.com/articles/rose/articlesRoseStranger.html
This story was passed on to me from the sister of my mother. She is my aunt. Her name is Tante Elli. Tante Elli didn’t know where the story came from but after some sleuthing, I found that the author is Rose Madeline Mula. Tante Ellikins, as her sister, my mother, still calls her, when she remembers to, found this story among her papers and thought that I should see it given that her sister, my mother Hertha, is going through some challenging and transitional times as she loses her sweet and good self to Alzheimers or dementia or just gets old.
Call it what you want.
Listen!
The story.
A very weird thing has happened. A strange old lady has moved into my house. I have no idea who she is, where she came from, or how she got in. I certainly did not invite her. All I know is that one day, she wasn’t there, and the next day, she was.
She is a clever old lady, and manages to keep out of sight for the most part, but whenever I pass a mirror, I catch a glimpse of her. And whenever I check my my mirror to check my appearance, there she is, hogging the whole thing, completely obliterating my gorgeous face and body. This is so rude. I have tried screaming at her but she just screams back. If she insists on hanging around, the least she could do is offer to pay part of the rent, but no. Every once in a while, I find a dollar bill stuck in a coat pocket, or some loose change under a sofa cushion, but it is not nearly enough.
I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I think she is stealing money from me. I go to the ATM and withdraw $100 and a few days later, it’s all gone. I certainly don’t spend money that fast, so I can only conclude that the old lady is pilfering from me.
You’d think she would spend some of that money to buy wrinkle cream. Lord knows she needs it. And money isn’t the only thing I think she is stealing. Food seems to disappear at an alarming rate, especially the good stuff like ice cream, cookies, and candy. I can’t seem to keep that stuff in the house anymore. She must have a real sweet tooth, but she’d better watch it because she is really packing on the pounds. I suspect she realizes this, and to make herself feel better, she is tampering with my scale to make me think I am putting on weight too.
For an old lady, she is quite childish. She likes to play nasty games, like going into my closets when I am not home and altering my clothes. They don’t seem to fit any more. And she messes with my files and papers so I can’t find anything. This is particularly annoying since I am extremely neat and organized. She also fiddles with the VCR so it does not record what I have carefully and correctly programmed.
She has found other imaginative ways to annoy me. She gets into my mail, newspaper and magazines before I do, and blurs the print so I can’t read it…and she has done something really sinister to the volume controls on my t.v., radio and telephone. Now all I hear are mumbles and whispers. She has done other things, like make my stairs steeper, my vacuum cleaner heavier, and all my handles, knobs and faucets harder to turn. She even made my bed higher so that getting into it and out of it is a real challenge. Lately, she has been fooling with my groceries before I put them away, applying glue to the lids, making the bottles and jars almost impossible to open. Is this any way to repay my hospitality?
She has taken all the fun out of shopping for clothes. When I try something on, she stands in front of the dressing room mirror and monopolizes it. She looks totally ridiculous in some of those outfits, plus she keeps me from seeing how good they look on me.
Just when I thought she couldn’t get any meaner, she proved me wrong. She came along when I went to get the picture taken for my drivers license, and just as the camera shutter clicked, she jumped in front of me! Nobody is going to believe that the picture of that old lady is me.
End of Story.
The story is poignant for me, Alfred, son of Hertha, nephew of Tante Ellikins because I too am being haunted but by an aging ghost that turns out to be me. There are times when I dare to look in the mirror. Not being able to see myself in the mirror would be another story. I know who I’m looking at but the image seems to be changing over time. How the holy hell did I get so old? There are lumps and bumps and scars and moles and wrinkled skin and rashes and swelling bits that seem to turn up randomly, slowly, and suddenly. Hair stops growing in some places where I would rather have it and shows up with a vengeance in places I would rather it not grow. It might have been the smoking or the booze or the sun or the cold or the cancer chemicals and radiation.
Who the heck knows?
Grooming and caring about ones appearance and hygiene requires vigilance.
It’s a good thing that mirrors don’t show pain or how I’m feeling.
Smile!
Ouch.
Better not.
Sometimes it’s better to live or be alone.
Sometimes.
I think I’ll go to Ecuador.
I need a nap.