I keep starting a blog about the interesting experiences I have caring for my aged and dear grandparents three mornings a week, but I can never get past the title. I want to share my observations in a general way--there are moments that are both poignant and amusing--without being specific enough to be disrespectful to the individuals involved. (Many good lines from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" come to mind, but they would, of course, be wholly inappropriate.)
So I decided to tell this story through the titles with which it could begin.
1. "Old Age Ain't for Sissies"
Grandpa, who has maintained his keen sense of humor long for nearly 97 years, says this to my husband on a regular basis. At first I just laughed when I heard this. But as I have witnessed firsthand the increasing humilities and decreasing of such hard-won independence that are inherent in growing old, I am no longer amused.
2. "Waiting to Die"
It gives one an entirely new perspective to the phrase "endure to the end." I'll spare you the details, as if we knew what lay ahead we would not try quite so hard to grow up so fast.
3. "Waiting for Togo" (In honor of my grandfather's sense of humor and love of good literature.)
Perhaps you would have to have read "Waiting for Godot" to appreciate my weak attempt to be punny. But since I have read it, I will simply snicker to myself.
4. "Almost Heaven"
It is a sacred experience to watch people as they prepare themselves to meet their maker. I have noticed a sweetness about their relationship that I hope to attempt to achieve myself when I grow up. I hope it doesn't take me 4 or 5 more decades to come close.
5. "Groundhog Day"
'Nuff said.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
my big fat geek life
In applying to be a chaperone for a high school choir tour, I am being asked to evaluate myself based on some interesting criteria. Some of it has to do with being a responsible adult. I think I can fudge my way through those tough questions. But the part that's got me stuck is the section that deals with, in essence, being cool enough not to ruin the tour for the kids. It got me thinking...
I finally came to the realization this morning, that, despite my best efforts to the contrary, I am a geek. Of course I've the clues have been evident all along, some subtle, some not so much. Like those times when you say something that sounds socially acceptable in your head, but comes out all wrong and leaves you feeling stupid. It doesn't even matter if no one else noticed it was uncool. You still scream at yourself in your head, "I am the biggest geek" and bang your sorry head into the wall over and over and over (one of the first signs of geekness, to be sure).
Maybe the litmus test for geekness versus coolness could be one's reaction to the movie "Napoleon Dynamite." If themes in the movie resonated with you, you must contain some degree of genetic geekness. If you "got it" and reveled in the redemption at the end of the movie, you're a true-blooded geek. But if you failed to laugh out loud or are one of those who said, "This is the stupidest movie I ever saw," you are either too cool to care or too old to understand the universal struggle between geek vs. cool.
In high school--and even in college--I was only fringe geek. I could be friends with everyone and anyone. I was tolerated and liked by the cool faction--even allowed to participate in "cool" events--but never allowed to be a full-fledged member. Although I do still get an occasional Christmas card from some of my cool friends. Maybe it's because I went to a small high school. Maybe it's a bit easier to hang on the fringe when the same people are the jocks, the brainiacs and the student body officers. Maybe being one of the few who stayed sober and virginal gave me some iota of cool factor--it made me just weird enough to be interesting. Who knows?
But whatever the reason, I have to admit it. Those days on the fringe are long over. Since I've spent the last 20 years of my life far removed from the "in" crowd, busy acquiring a mini-van and a mortgage, my frump factor has soared. I no longer even merit fringe benefits. I have achieved full-fledged geekness.
Which brings me back to my self-evalutaion. How should I rate myself on a scale of 1-10? Cool teenagers who know me do speak to me when spoken to. Only some of them look the other way when I drive my mini-van up to the pick-up lane at Provo High. Some will even wave or say "Hi!" in the halls of Provo High, but only if no one is looking. None of my high school-age children has outright forbidden me from stepping foot in the school (YET). Maybe this will qualify me to chaperone the choir tour. I don't know. I'll keep you posted...
I finally came to the realization this morning, that, despite my best efforts to the contrary, I am a geek. Of course I've the clues have been evident all along, some subtle, some not so much. Like those times when you say something that sounds socially acceptable in your head, but comes out all wrong and leaves you feeling stupid. It doesn't even matter if no one else noticed it was uncool. You still scream at yourself in your head, "I am the biggest geek" and bang your sorry head into the wall over and over and over (one of the first signs of geekness, to be sure).
Maybe the litmus test for geekness versus coolness could be one's reaction to the movie "Napoleon Dynamite." If themes in the movie resonated with you, you must contain some degree of genetic geekness. If you "got it" and reveled in the redemption at the end of the movie, you're a true-blooded geek. But if you failed to laugh out loud or are one of those who said, "This is the stupidest movie I ever saw," you are either too cool to care or too old to understand the universal struggle between geek vs. cool.
In high school--and even in college--I was only fringe geek. I could be friends with everyone and anyone. I was tolerated and liked by the cool faction--even allowed to participate in "cool" events--but never allowed to be a full-fledged member. Although I do still get an occasional Christmas card from some of my cool friends. Maybe it's because I went to a small high school. Maybe it's a bit easier to hang on the fringe when the same people are the jocks, the brainiacs and the student body officers. Maybe being one of the few who stayed sober and virginal gave me some iota of cool factor--it made me just weird enough to be interesting. Who knows?
But whatever the reason, I have to admit it. Those days on the fringe are long over. Since I've spent the last 20 years of my life far removed from the "in" crowd, busy acquiring a mini-van and a mortgage, my frump factor has soared. I no longer even merit fringe benefits. I have achieved full-fledged geekness.
Which brings me back to my self-evalutaion. How should I rate myself on a scale of 1-10? Cool teenagers who know me do speak to me when spoken to. Only some of them look the other way when I drive my mini-van up to the pick-up lane at Provo High. Some will even wave or say "Hi!" in the halls of Provo High, but only if no one is looking. None of my high school-age children has outright forbidden me from stepping foot in the school (YET). Maybe this will qualify me to chaperone the choir tour. I don't know. I'll keep you posted...
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