A Cranky Old Woman's View ...

This week, my guest at Terry's Place is author Patricia Stoltey. Welcome, Pat.

A Cranky Old Woman’s View on Aging and the Politics of Speaking Out

Let me begin by saying that I’m not calling my mom a cranky old woman in this blog. The politics I discuss have nothing to do with political parties or government, but rather the complex relationship between individuals and society that governs behavior. And speaking out refers to an individual’s right to express his opinion and assert his rights in a reasonable and non-threatening manner without fear of verbally abusive or physically dangerous attacks in response.

That’s a high-falutin’ way of saying I plan to talk about cranky old folks who speak their mind.

My mom, who will turn ninety in May, believes she has earned the right to say anything she pleases, any time she feels like it. She told me this herself. Speaking out was the thing she looked forward to for years, the thing that kept her brain synapses firing as she stored up opinions on everything from politics to washing your hands. Once she reached that certain age, however, she discovered her opinions weren’t always well-received. She was confused. Why did people (her children, for instance) shush her, or exchange tolerant glances or, worst case, tell her she was wrong and angrily try to set her straight?

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I witnessed one of those bizarre confrontations when I went to visit my mom last summer and accompanied her to a doctor’s appointment. While we sat in the waiting room, Mom mentioned that I’d have to find something else to do while she and my brother watched the NASCAR race that weekend. A thirty-something lady sitting on the other side of the room threw herself into our conversation as though she doubted Mom’s true fan status, demanded to know which drivers Mom liked and, by the way, what she thought of Earnhardt.

I was getting nervous. This can’t go well, I thought.

Mother, knowing full well she was treading in dangerous territory, spoke her mind. Elder sports fans can be just as scary as thirty-something sports fans. Mom was indignant; the thirty-something was outraged. Both were too loud.

I didn’t know what to do.

But here’s the thing. Even when I was young and less tolerant of cranky elders speaking their minds, I never engaged those folks in a rude exchange, even when their opinions ridiculed my own. I may have thought I knew everything, but I still treated my elders with respect and always listened to opinions and advice.

Well, okay, I didn’t always accept the opinions or follow the advice, but I did listen politely.

During this Nascar incident, I was conflicted. On the one hand, I wanted to hush my mom and end the fuss. But there was also a desire to speak out, defend Mom’s right to say what she wanted to say (no matter how she said it), and chastise the thirty-something for putting my mom down in such a nasty display of disrespect. I didn’t care if the young lady defended her point of view, but this was Nascar, for Pete’s sake. Why not argue with a wink and a smile? I calmed the exchange as best I could with a pointed look at the thirty-something, saying, “It’s all in fun, right? This discussion is all in fun?” For a while, however, it had not been fun at all.

My mom is a wonderful example of an elder with incredible life experience. She grew up during the depression, the daughter of a Norwegian immigrant. Her father was not a successful man, and he suffered from discrimination, especially from his in-laws. Mom’s parents eventually divorced. Mom graduated from high school before she was eighteen and headed for Chicago to go to nursing school. She married my dad during World War II when he was in the Army, and after his discharge from the service, they became tenant farmers. Mom spent as much time driving a tractor and butchering chickens as she did nursing, cleaning house, or fixing big farm meals. My dad studied real estate and farm management and eventually ended up owning his own business. My mother often worked nights at the hospital to keep us afloat as they struggled to become financially secure. She knows so much and expresses it so well.

So I understand where my mom is coming from when she says she’s earned the right to speak up and say anything she wants. I’m more like her each day. Granted, as we get older, some of us find our tongues have developed sharp edges while our sensitivity filters have disintegrated. We have wonderful stories to tell and great wisdom to share, but we occasionally forget the things we crave from others: respect, courtesy, and compassion. It’s no wonder we’re seen as cranky old women or curmudgeons.

On the other hand, there is something tremendously satisfying about doing and saying Cranky Old Woman stuff. I’ll tell you about that some other time.

So, do you have any stories to share?

Patricia’s August 2009 mystery release, The Desert Hedge Murders, features cantankerous ladies of a certain age on a deadly vacation in the southwest. Visit Patricia’s website at http://www.patriciastoltey.com. She invites you to e-mail her at plynnes@patriciastoltey.com

More about that age thing

What I'm reading: Hit Parade, by Lawrence Block

What I'm writing: Chapter Three -- again or still, depending on what I decide.

Yesterday, only half on a whim, I decided to get a new cell phone. I never wanted to be totally connected. As a matter of fact, time away from the phone and the internet can be golden, so most of the time my cell isn't even on. I use it 95% for long distance calls because they're free, which is because I never come close to using my minutes. Mine roll over, but I roll off almost as many as I add each month. And I find people who are texting all the time to be rude. I was at a writer's conference banquet, and during the keynote, people at my table were busy texting. (I hope not each other!). But, I got a phone that is connected to the Internet, and as far as I'm concerned, with all the stuff it does, it ought to at least do the laundry or make coffee, but I guess I didn't go high-end enough. I stuck to a mid-range phone. On sale. With rebate. It does have a nifty qwerty keyboard in case I want to be rude the next time I'm at a banquet.

Trying to decipher the 40 page "quick start" guide (Making A Call was on page 10!) made me feel more than tech-challenged. Finding where to plug the charger was enough of a setback. How was I supposed to see that slot when it has a cover on it? And testing the dreaded texting feature. I could get it to fill in the "To" field, but nothing I did seemed to move the cursor into the box to write the message. The instructions and the on-line tutorial (like, since when do you have to go on line to learn how to use a PHONE?) simply said, 'fill in the "To" field, then type your message. HELLO. There's another step in there. Eventually, like all those monkeys typing Shakespeare, I hit the right button. Probably won't be able to do it ever again.

Then I thought I'd try to give my husband his own private ringtone so I wouldn't have to check the display if I was driving. Nothing in the quick start mentioned it. Nothing in the tutorial mentioned it. I downloaded the 350+ page manual and found the instructions on page 76. I followed them (after finding out they invented an OK button that nothing else mentioned), and they didn't work. To prove I wasn't totally inept, I did manage to follow the steps to add speed dial numbers (and why do they call it dialing?) Then I tried another feature -- Voice. I Pressed a button and told it to call someone. Lo and behold, it DID. Scary.

I finally found the list of ringtones in the phone and picked one. I dutifully registered my new purchase. They sent me a temporary password as a text message to my phone! This after I had to type my email four times. Of course, my phone was off, and in another room. If I told the computer I couldn't access my phone, the message said they'd snail mail me my password. What's wrong with email? I mean, I was on line doing all this stuff. So, I get the phone, find the message, type in the password (no cut and paste from a phone to a computer), and then the next computer screen tells me to change the password before I can access my new account. I do, and my reward for this is a Free Ringtone. Woo Woo.

Accessing the ring tone means installing some new software, which, error messages to the contrary, seems to work, so I look at my choices for ring tones. I chose the Songs Everyone Knows list. There were 45 songs on the list. I recognized 7 of them by title. Could probably hum about 4. Nothing like feeling old and out of touch. I think I'll continue my policy of not giving anyone my cell phone number. I'm not sure I could figure out how to answer it before it rolls to voice mail, and I KNOW I haven't figured that one out yet.

Do you know what the Group W Bench is?

During blog rounds this morning, I found a fascinating discussion on getting old. Considering I'm probably decades older than most of the people lamenting their lost youth at the site, I've been following the 'defining moments' they're listing as the point at which they left their youth behind. It's been fun, so I'll admit to borrowing the theme.

Hearing their favorite songs on the oldies station.
OK, I can beat that. What about having your kids tell you about a great "new" song, and you can sing along because it's merely a remake?
Do they realize Paul McCartney was in a group before "Wings"?

Finding the first gray hair.
Been there, done that, hit the salon (see yesterday's post).

Not recognizing a line from Ferris Bueller.
What about the Group W Bench? Please tell me I'm not the only one left on the planet who knows what that means.

If I remember these (or the lack thereof) am I old?

Rotary dial phones. No area codes.

No zip codes.

Television was black and white (once we got one)

Mixing the color into margarine.

No home computers.

No cell phones.

No credit cards – stores had "Charge-a-Plates" with different notches for different stores.

"Your Hit Parade" and "Sing along with Mitch" instead of MTV.

Since I had to give a 'defining moment myself, I searched my failing memory banks and decided this would probably be it:

Although I don't really consider myself "old", I did get a bit of a jolt when my son took me to a UCLA game. Now, I'm a Bruin, and was at the school when the team never lost a game, so I figured it would be fun. Only for some reason, they let all these children go to college now. Back when I was there (and sitting in the section behind the broadcast 'booth' where Dick Enberg, the "Voice of the Bruins" did commentary), everyone at the game was MY age.

I guess some people are more sensitive to passing years. My mother refused to tell anyone WHY I was home for a visit when I went to my 20th high school reunion. No kid of hers would be old enough to be out of high school for 20 years. When she became a great grandmother a few months ago, the title didn't bother her as much as dealing with the fact that her daughter was a grandmother. It didn't bother me. I play CCR for the baby along with singing "On Top of Spaghetti". He responds pretty much the same way to both. But you can be sure he'll grow up knowing what the Group W Bench is.

For me, getting older sure beats the alternative. And nobody said I had to grow up.

So -- if you know what the Group W bench is, leave a comment!