Is it the walker?

Several years ago, friend Betty and I went to a new restaurant for our regular Wednesday night supper. The waitress was, to say the least, condescending, with a too-cheery, “Well, are you ladies out of the town tonight?” I remember having perhaps the best appetizer I’ve ever had—one huge scallop on a bed of pureed cauliflower, topped with a dab of foie gras. We each had two glasses of wine, and we got our revenge—the waitress forgot to charge us for the wine. I called the next day to pay for our drinks and was curtly told, “It was her mistake. She can pay for it.” I thought it was karma for her attitude toward us, but that’s the first time I ever noticed age discrimination.

It hit me in the face again today. A nice guy came to measure for a section of fence that  needs to be replaced. I was the one who had called him (I’m comparative shopping), made the arrangement for him to come out this morning. The whole thing was my deal.

When he got here, Jordan was in the cottage, and, because she is more fleet of foot than I am, she opened the door. He greeted us both and proceeded to talk directly to Jordan with an occasional word my way. It was clear he thought she was in charge, even when she gave him my email and told him it was mine.

After he left, I said it was obvious he thought I was incapable of absorbing what he said, either because I look my age (that crepey neck), I had to ask her to hand me my hearing aids, or I’m on a walker. At one point I wanted to raise my hand and say, ”I’m the one paying this bill.” I did interject a light-hearted comment in an attempt to become part of the conversation—it didn’t work. Jordan maintains I am being too sensitive, but I don’t think so.

A friend who is blind says that people talk extra loud to him until he wants to say, “Hey, I’m blind, not deaf.” I think too many tend to think one disability somehow affects the whole package, especially including the mind. I am not in dementia. I am old, and I use a walker, but my mind is clear and works fine, thank you very much, and I enjoy a full and vibrant life. I do not want to be isolated or categorized because my legs don’t’ work quite right. In the two years since I’ve been using the walker, a few friends that I used to see frequently have dropped away. I don’t know that it’s the walker, but I have a suspicion. And I am so grateful for the many who have stayed by me, putting up with loading my walker, praising my independence.

Strangers are extra kind to me in passing. They nod and greet me, they hold doors, they wait patiently because I am a little slow. The difference comes when I make personal contact with just a few people. Next time you meet someone with a handicap, don’t stereotype them in your mind with that handicap. Look at the whole person. You might be pleasantly surprised.

The times they are a-changing

            I tried to go grocery shopping at Central Market online today. I’d decided to fix Swiss steak for the family—long story but there’s a diet involved that really limits my cooking. Guess what? Central Market found zero results for round steak. So, in person, at Tom Thumb I asked, and the butcher said it’s an old-fashioned cut of meat, no one cuts it any more. One more childhood memory gone in a swoop. Butcher recommended something else, but it doesn’t have that little round bone. My brother and I used to fight over that tiny bit of marrow.

As we drove to the grocery store—we’ve gotten to prefer the one that is almost downtown, for it’s wide aisles and clean atmosphere—I saw other evidence of changing times. Suddenly, there are whole buildings I’ve not seen before. I know I don’t get out often, but I didn’t think I was that sheltered. A new coliseum almost done? A huge camera shop I’d never seen. In fairness, I have to say I don’t have much occasion to go up Montgomery, but we did today.

Still almost everywhere I go I see new buildings, familiar buildings and houses gone. Today, on Vickery, I looked at a large scraped empty lot and said, “I can’t even remember what was there.” Neither could Jordan. It’s a strangely disconcerting thing to see my city changing around me, even though I am one who acknowledges that growth involves change. But I am conflicted, because I love old houses, old structures. I value our history as it is represented in buildings. And tonight, I worry about the fate of the historic Will Rogers Coliseum.

I also mourn the changing times in the number of people who apparently find me old these days. I am so grateful for the many friends who visit the cottage, take me out to eat, and sometimes take me to doctors’ appointments, but I have noticed a clear drop by a few friends. Some I used to enjoy a glass of wine or a casual lunch with. My theory is that being on a walker has made me suddenly old in their eyes. I am actually in better health, mentally and physically, than most people my age. I simply cannot walk unassisted—and as a restaurant owner said to me recently, “Oh, well, you’ve been hobbling around forever.” And it’s true—I was uncertain of my balance, I carried a cane—but the walker makes a difference. There! I’ve said it! Wanted to say it for a long time and now I’ve done it.

My family suffered a loss today. The Frisco Alters—Jamie, Melanie, Maddie and Eden—lost their chocolate lab, believed to be about thirteen (he was a rescue and you never know the age for sure). He had shown signs of aging—anxiety and arthritis among them, bless him—but I don’t think any of us were ready to send Mosby to the rainbow bridge. I love my dog to the moon and back, but I have to say Mosby was one of the sweetest dogs I’ve ever known. Patient, loving, and never demanding, loyal to his family. It’s a hard loss.

A bittersweet day—and it ended with the news that we’re bombing Syria, that poor beleaguered country. Sometimes the world is a discouraging place.