Slipping – senior style – with a good hearty laugh

Sandy Turner
Sandy Turner

I’ve chosen to laugh at the silly things I’m doing now which I would have never done years ago.  Looking for something while forgetting what I’ve lost or calling one of the grandkids my dogs’ name. So it begins, the onset of not having a clue what’s going on, and I’m going to embrace it with laughter.

For the past six months my sister has been helping me with the business. It’s a win-win for me. I get to see her at least three times a week and she’s doing the things I don’t want to do, when it comes to the paper shuffle.

Much to her chagrin, the dog insists she goes on our daily walks and just to be sure she doesn’t try to reject the daily routine because of cold weather, I bought both of us a pair of slip on fur-lined boots. We run a mental tab of who forgets what, and it’s always a tie, as we both forget who forgot the most. I’ve convinced her to laugh about the aches and pains and especially our minds, which are slipping faster than a toupee on a windy day.

Her car was still in the driveway 10 minutes after she left the office. After an ample amount of time allotted for getting situated, I went out to see what was taking her so long. She had misplaced her keys.

We tore her car apart looking for the keys, inside and outside of the house and after 30 minutes thought perhaps we should retrace our steps on the last walk with the dog.

“Why would you even have the keys in your hand when we went for a walk,” I asked.

Neither one of us knew the answer, so she sat down in her car, even though she didn’t have any keys to start it. The keys were laying on her dashboard. A good hearty laugh later, she was on her way.

The hubs and I also compete as to who’s losing their mind first. It’s not really a competition between the two of us, as I have had the ability mess up even a simple task and age doesn’t have anything to do with it.

He asked me to help him “pull wire,” as he’s installing lights at the front of the property. My instructions were to feed a string down a three-quarter-inch PVC pipe as he held a vacuum at the other end from 700 feet away (electrician’s trick to feed wire through pipes, I was told). If it gets stuck, he said, just giggle the string.

It was stuck, most certainly stuck, so I tried to help poke it down with my index finger. As soon as I realized my finger was stuck, most certainly stuck, in the PVC pipe, I started yelling for him to turn off the vacuum. He did, but the finger wasn’t coming out.

As I watched him walk across the property, with my finger stuck in the pipe, I sang a silent, “happy birthday to me,” as I celebrate making it another year around the sun.

My finger survived, his humor didn’t.

Sandy Turner lives in Independence, Missouri. Email her at sandydownhome@hotmail.com