Old Age Day by Day December 16, 2010

More shopping for the party today, and then a matinee with my foster granddaughter, and dinner out. This will mean grilled cheese, cheese quesadilla or cheese and bean and rice burrito. I personally know of no other entrees she willingly eats. Oh, wait, there is chicken noodle soup, but we can't order it out because it has to be like in the soup can. Her beverage of choice is lemonade with apple juice a possible alternative, and when she wants to go wild, chocolate milk. Dessert? Ice cream, of course, only it must be vanilla. Last week she had vanilla gelato with caramel and ate the whole thing, so her tastes are broadening considerably.

She is a neat eater, and never spills, and is a great conversationalist, but if the talk does drag, we color. I find it very therapeutic. I notice my pressure on myself to color inside the lines and make the trees green and apples red. But I let myself be swayed by my granddaughter, who feels unconstrained by conventions, and produces much more imaginative and lovely art works.

In short (not a pun), she is sheer delight to be with, and amuses me endlessly. I hope I prove interesting enough for her, and must sparkle a bit (sorry, Jane Austen) tonight.

Old Age Day by Day December 15, 2010

I have to go to the store today to get sodas, beer,wine, and all the party paraphenalia for Saturday. Today is a good day to die. I have my power and my shield, and I can do this thing, I know I can. Stick to the basics - don't be looking a ornaments or stollen or fancy serving plates. Eyes to my list, I will fear no evil, and spend only what is necessary and essential.

Then, next big hurdle, is to lug it all up the front steps and into the house. At great risk to hip and knee, I will do this appointed task. It is not raining today, so the gods have spoken. Today is THE DAY.

And afterward, collapsed on my bed, I will read something light and funny and without intellectual content. The dogs will comfort me. And by Sunday, it will all be gone, but I will have feted my friends and will be happily thinking of conversations and laughter. It's worth it. Definitely.

Old Age Day by Day December 14, 2010

Tomorrow is my son-in-law's birthday. I'm afraid he gets lost in the holiday shuffle. He's a mature man in his forties, but still, it's an important marker and celebration of a life. One of my dear friend's son has a December 25 birthday, and they used to have the party in the spring or even summer, so the event got some attention. I'm a believer in birthdays. As a child, I was in May Day celebrations at our school (K - 12), and my favorite year I played the Mad Hatter and my friend was the March Hare. So I love unbirthdays, too. I still have a top hat with birthday candles on it that I wear for my granddaughter sometimes.

Christmas is about birth, and how magical and profound it feels to us. This year at my party there will be a small baby, and I love the joy of that. If we just forget all the stuff, and concentrate on the surprising, amazing fact of life, that's enough to party til dawn. (I'm a big talker, my party begins at 6 and is over well before midnight, but I'm a geezer now)

So I will phone my son-in-law two states away and hope he gets a moment to reflect and share with his wife and young daughter, despite their impending trip, the packing, the grading of papers, the cat food situation, the last minute gifts for Christmas. Because he's still somebody's special baby, as the song goes, and his existence sheds light on those around him.

Old Age Day by Day December 13, 2010

I drove to a nursery this morning after getting my temporary crown put in my mouth, and bought garlands and a few little decorations for the front door and around. Looking at all the ornaments and trees is pretty magical and soothing, even for someone of my advanced years. And my chorus concert is over, and though I made a few mistakes, I believe none were noticeable. We had a magnificent potluck afterward, and though I don't eat sugar, I sat nearby and gazed lovingly at brownie bites, lemon cookies, ice cream and other delights. We were lovers forbidden to kiss.

So I'm getting with the holiday spirit, and looking forward to the big days and little cozy moments. My hands smell of cedar from the garlands, there are visions of sugarplums dancing in my head, and the shiny, slightly loopy goofiness of the season is upon me. And I haven't had a single eggnog.

Old Age Day by Day December 12, 2010

I'm in an irritated mood. I feel prickly and have the urge to hiss like a cat. I hope this cloud formation passes soon, but right now it's raining on top of my brain. I have already been hard at work, making lentil soup for the potluck after our concert, decorating in bits and pieces throughout the house, practicing our songs, which I no longer love at this exact moment. I hope some enthusiasm sets in by showtime. I'll tell you something, too, I hate to dress up, to feel obligated to be a bit dressy and figure out what earrings to wear and what do do with my hair. I don't improve upon effort.

My undone tasks are calling me, and they all seem dreadful right now. Maybe a big sense of relief will flood me when this concert is over, and the potluck, and I can just go home and get messy and listen to Christmas carols. Maybe.

I just glanced over at a pile of sewing on the table, and had an urge to make the bird ornaments I've cut out. That is what I would really like to be doing today. I'd rather make a bird than sing like one.

Old Age Day by Day December 11, 2010

My daughter and I saw the Disney movie Tangled yesterday afternoon. You'd think, after teaching 1st and 2nd graders all week she'd want an R rated film at least, but we both are suckers for the preschool cine. It wasn't great, like Beauty and the Beast or Mulan, but it was engaging. The 3D is fun. I preferred Princess and the Frog, because the music was better and there was more of it, but there are a couple of songs in Tangled that are delightful. The hero looks like Aladdin and Prince Naveen mixed with Adrien Brody - very strange. And Rapunzel is the Barbie doll one inch waisted, Keene eyed girl who resembles Speilberg's space aliens. Belle looked sort of real and had expressions, but this gal looks like she went through a spaghetti stretcher and her eyes popped out. Very creepy.

Oh, well, I'm the old lady who has Lady and the Tramp and Robin Hood in her heart. The new look is anorexia plus drug overdose.

Then we came home with tacos and found my husband watching Ladyhawke, and we settled in to see a truly satisfying movie. No special effects, but magic through and through.

See what a geezer I have become? I don't have an IPad either, and you know I can't get my photos out of IPhoto into an email. But - tah dah - I did send a song attachment to another human being yesterday, so all is not lost. He received it, and now it is translated into English, and I know what I'm singing. I love the lyrics, too. There is always hope.

Old Age Day by Day December 10, 2010

I'm so tired - last night's dress rehearsal wasn't over until ten, and my feet hurt and I was hungry, and though I went right to sleep, I woke up in the middle of the night to worry myself silly about my vocal mistakes and all the instructions flooded me with doubt. Should I just lip sinc and thereby save the chorus? This morning reason has returned, and I am just going about my tasks and whatever will be will be. My mother was extremely fond of Doris Day, and the song she sang in The Man Who Knew Too Much, Hitchcock's remake of his own earlier film (Que sera, sera). My mom looked a bit like Doris Day, with the same figure and smile, and she brainwashed me into humming "Once I Had a Secret Love" throughout childhood. I still, I must admit, love the movie the song is in - Calamity Jane. My Mom was persuasive.

Now, both Mom and Dad were severely tone deaf. Flanked by them in church, my brother and I would get the giggles, and I'm pretty certain nearby pews were equally amused. The upside of such torture is I can sing on tune next to almost anyone's vocal catastrophe without losing pitch. The bad part is I still feel like the giggles are about to erupt, and I have to make my body rigid to avoid humiliation. Last night my tenor buddy, a guy about my younger son's age, was off key during a song I know he has mastered - and I kept wanting to shout-sing over his too low third line. I mentally was lifting him up by the shoulders like a male ballet dancer lifting his partner - but it didn't work. Drowning him out was not an option. We've been warned about that. So, distracted and thinking waaay too much, I went down with the ship - better we were both off together, I felt, kind of like the Titanic. Nearer My God to Thee would have been a better tune at that point.

With a bit of luck, we'll be fine Sunday at the actual concert. And if we mess up, so what? Except, except: no giggling. My stellar career will be over if I think of my parents. Don't think, don't think, don't think.