Molly

Miss Molly has had a bath and is mad at me so she won't look at the camera.

This ancient old dog came to us three or four years ago when Eileen, her previous person, had to go into a nursing home.


Eileen passed away last year but Molly abides.  She is arthritic -- her hips are as bad as my knees -- and seemingly stone deaf. But she responds to hand signals that mean "Get up and go outside." And when she hobbles outside and off the porch to attend to her needs, she always looks back at me and wags her tail.

Molly's a gallant old girl who still seems to enjoy her life, limited though it is. Not unlike her previous person.

I hope I'll be like Molly and Eileen.

And Beyond . . .

First there was the letter inviting me to check out the advantages of a motorized scooter to enhance my mobility . . . then I visited my ninety-something year-old friend in the nursing home . . .

Then there was the post from Sylvia Dickey Smith in an online list. She wrote: I have been hired to write an e-newspaper column on the topic OLDER WOMEN MAKE BETTER WRITERS.

If you are an "older-middle age and beyond" aged published woman who would like to have your book spotlighted on this program, please email me off list.

And beyond . . . Well, I can't turn my back on the fact that in order to call myself middle-aged, I would have to count on living to 132 . . . and of course an author can use all the publicity she can get.

So I emailed Sylvia and in the blink of an eye, my book and I were in the spotlight here.

And then, in keeping with the geriatric theme, John sent me this pretty amazing video of The World's Oldest Showgirl.

Dang. I wish I could dance like that.

Is It Just Me Or Is It Old In Here?

Four wonderful inches of rain! But that's not what I'm talking about today. It's about my reading -- which, though I'm still hard at it with Miss Birdie, I do a bit of every day -- at breakfast and lunch, while I take a tub bath, and before I fall asleep.

I've noticed something odd. First I read A Place Called Canterbury. The author grew up down the block from our family -- I knew him slightly; he's a few years younger than I. But he's writing about a 'geriatric apartment building' in Tampa -- a place where those who can afford it go to spend their so-called Golden Years. I actually know some of the folks he's talking about so the book was of particular interest to me. And the lesson I took away was this -- even with money, there's nothing "golden" about getting old and helpless and, worst of all, senile.

But it's a good, sometimes funny, sometimes sad, read which I recommend.

So what do I read next? Four little books written by Effie Wilder, an eighty-something year old lady who's living in a retirement home. They were given to me to pass on to an eighty-something year old friend of mine who's (you guessed it) in a nursing home. I read the first one, wanting to make sure it wasn't too fluffy or silly (my friend is fragile but no fool). Well, I found it quite engaging; enough so that I read the other three.

Then I pick up something to re-read: Fannie Flagg's sublime Fried Green Tomatoes -- forgetting that much of the action takes place in (all together now) a nursing home! As I read, I realize that I, too, have written about nursing homes -- in Art's Blood and again in In A Dark Season.

I shake my head -- time for a change.

So I pick up Water For Elephants, which comes highly recommended and has been sitting on my TBR (to be read) pile for months. It's terrific -- a beautifully told story about life in a small traveling circus during the Depression. Oh, and the narrator's a ninety-something year old man, living in a . . . nursing home.

My next read is going to be Winnie the Pooh.

And on a different and cheerier note -- here's a link to an video of twin baby mooslings playing in the sprinkler.

http://www.maniacworld.com/twin-baby-moose-in-sprinkler.html