It’s been a long week. Friends in Florida battled Tropical Storm Debbie, friends in Colorado fought wild fires, I went to the doctor with something like Pink Eye, and David went to the dentist with an abscessed tooth. Time for another look at the lighter side of life.
An elderly lady came home from the grocery store looking upset and a little disheveled.
What’s the matter, Honey?” said her husband.
“There was a bit of confusion at the store this morning,” she said. “When I was ready to pay for my groceries, the cashier said, ‘Strip down, facing me.’ I made a mental note to complain to my congressman about Homeland Security running amok, and then I did just as she instructed. When the hysterical shrieking and alarms finally subsided, I found out she was referring to my credit card.”
Mom loved shopping day. She visited the discount stores close to home, browsing the bargain racks for inexpensive treasures, and finished her outing with some grocery shopping. As her Alzheimer’s progressed, her trips became confusing and even frightening. I don’t think she experienced anything like the lady in the story, but there were times when aisle after aisle of an endless array of choices overwhelmed her and she abandoned her basket and fled, empty-handed to the safety of home. That’s when Dad took over the shopping duties.
On the way to a funeral home for a viewing of a friend, an older gentleman reminded his granddaughter to be very quiet and respectful. She did very well until toward the end.
“Grandpa,” she said, “who’s the man in the treasure chest?”
My 7 year old grandson knew who was in the “treasure chest” at Dad’s funeral, but he was curious nonetheless. He stood beside the open casket for a long time, staring as if he was memorizing every detail. Later I saw him lying on one of the pews with his eyes closed, posed in much the same position as his great grandfather. I guess he was trying to imagine what it felt like to be dead. Hopefully, it will be a long time before he finds out for real.
An old gentleman went to Starbucks and ordered a decaf cappuccino.
“I’m sorry,” said the barista, “we only have regular cappuccino.
“Okay, I’ll have one of those. Just give me your phone number so I have somebody to talk to when I can’t sleep tonight.”
Mom and Dad were not impressed with Starbucks. They liked their coffee hot and black and cheap. They thought coffee should cost less than $1 a cup, and they didn’t want it fancied up.
An older fellow talking to his friend: Now that I’m retired, I never really know what day of the week it is anymore. All I know is, the day the big newspaper comes, I have to dress up and go to church.
When Dad’s memory started to go, he became very concerned about what day of the week it was. He wasn’t very interested in the newspaper, but occasionally, I’d see him slip a section across the breakfast table or pick up a piece that was lying on the coffee table to check the date. As for Sunday, he knew when that was because I always rousted him out of bed.
This last one is a picture of some of the younger set with a little bit of wisdom for the older set.