In This Day and Age

I just finished mowing the front lawn. Frank used to mow the lawn, front and back; but when I began to notice him tiring too easily I insisted he mow in back one day and in front the next. Now I insist on doing the mowing, while he pulls weeds (less strenuous). My legs will talk to me tomorrow (and they won't say thank you) but Frank has more serious issues at play, so my legs and I will have that conversation when the time comes but in the meantime I've done the right thing.

Yes, we could hire a gardener, as we have in years past. But we aren't of a mind to pay some young whippersnapper to come in to mow-and-blow at his own convenience, then spray chemicals (that give me sinus headaches) to control the weeds. There was a time when you could hire a kid to spend an hour a week keeping your flowerbed weed-free, but kids don't do that anymore. They don't need the money because their parents shower them with two of everything, and such a menial task would interfere with their overactive social and overstimulated intellectual life.

When Frank and I went to visit and groom my horse last night, she would NOT lift her foot to let Frank clean her hooves (easier for him than for me in the past, because it requires bending over and supporting the weight of her leg with one hand while using the hoof pick in the other hand). I took over and she gave me no resistance.

I remembered the time she would NOT go into one corner of the riding arena for me. I spent 10 minutes trying every technique I knew (and admittedly my riding skills are limited). When I finally looked beyond the fence I saw two coyotes in the nearby orchard. Horses have their own way of knowing things. And letting you know. I had forgotten last night that Frank is not at his best but somehow Brandi knew he should not be the one to clean her hooves.

He was the one who got me out there in the first place though. I've decided for a variety of reasons that Brandi needs a new person. Someone younger than me, who can give her the attention and exercise she deserves. I was hoping my grandson would take her, or his goddaughter's mom, but they aren't ready for the responsibility of a horse. Had they said yes, I would not have seen her again, but would have asked them to simply pick up and trailer her to her new home. Less painful without the goodbye. Since they said no thanks, Frank convinced me that while I am pursuing other possibilities, I need to continue to nurture my relationship with her. So off we drove to the ranch, lump in my throat be damned.

I'm not selling her, I'm giving her away. No amount of money can equal what she means to me. But if you're interested don't bother contacting me unless I know you well. I will not let her go to a stranger. I need someone I'm certain will treat her kindly and who will commit to seeing her through to the end of her trail. I don't want her handed off willy nilly from person to person. She's not getting any younger either, and she does not adapt well to change. As for me, I love her enough to let her go, and I fear the time has come.

Getting old is not for sissies, and ironically it strikes at us when we are at our weakest. Frank and I love our home but it's high maintenance and we're exploring options for an apartment in a seniors apartment complex. We've always done a pretty good job taking care of each other, but recently we've learned there are times when we are in individual survival mode and neither one is in any condition to compensate for the other's frailty. Frank has always helped me remember my vitamins (and sometimes even remember to eat); but now he is using his I-phone to remind himself to take his medication. One requires one pill a day. Another requires two pills a day. The third requires three pills a day. Yeah, we could write it down but neither of us would remember to look at the list. We need someone looking in on us occasionally. I know there are places where you can push one button that signals "help" and another that signals "leave us alone, we're fine." Then again I suppose someone has to remember to push the right button.

Yes, we have family, but they have lives of their own. A few nights back we watched Clint Eastood's Gran Torino, which speaks loud and clear to to the generation and communication gap that can sneak up on old people. Anyone who can't relate to that movie on one level or another gets brownie points in my book. Even in the best of families, reliance on someone you love can only add to the drama playing out in their own lives -- an unfair burden. This, I believe, is why old people "cocoon."

Well tomorrow it's back to the hospital for more tests for Frank and, who knows? When the results come back "well and clear" the two of us may break into an energetic happy dance that reassures us (rightly or not) that we're not as old as we've recently come to believe we are. Meanwhile it's do a little, rest a little. Do a little, rest a little. Remember to keep an eye on each other even if we forget why, and...

Hmmm. I had an idea for a great way to end this, but now I've forgotten what it was.