The Greatest Generation

It's not a cliche, it's the truth. The World War II generation deserves its nickname. They survived the Great Depression. They volunteered to fight a war they believed in, and those who did not lose their lives, still they lost their innocence.

How will we care for them now? What do they deserve? Institutional extended care facilities with overworked, underpaid staff? Move them out of their homes because it's too expensive to care for them there? Put them in rooms with linoleum floors and roommates who scream and food brought in refrigerated trucks?

Why not something better? What will it be? What will we want when we are finished earning a living and need to rely on what we have saved and what others will donate through taxes or willingly?

We will want to be asked. We will want to be a part of the decision of where and how we live out the last years of our lives. What do you want? Tell someone.

I want to be in my home with my kitties and my family. If I can afford it, I will want to stay at home and watch television all night now and then. I want to eat when I feel like it. I want to be able to take up new hobbies that I'll finally have time for: piano lessons, reading the Great Classics, learning a foreign language or two, writing the Great American Novel finally. I want my computer internet working, a stereo, and whatever newest electronic toys are coming out. I want unlimited visits from children and grandchildren, grown or otherwise. I want a garden to sit in.

Respect, comfort, kindness. These are the things I wish for all aging people.

The Wasp Lesson

I got stung by a wasp on Sunday afternoon. It had been a beautiful day, until that moment; I was being incredibly productive, working on several outdoor projects. The garage door needed repairing and I was finally getting it done! Unfortunately, I was in conflict with an unknown adversary. I was getting too close to the wasp's nest (attached to the underside of my son's slide!) with power tools. I saw it fly near me, but didn't realize it was actually after me until I felt the intense pain on the meaty part of my forefinger. "Sonofagun stung me!" exploded out of me and I dropped the tools and leapt to another part of the yard. The ice cube helped but it was a big unnerving, I must admit. I sat on the couch the rest of the afternoon, milking my ego and babying my finger.

Then it struck me. How beautiful a day I had been having. Productive, happy, content, beautiful weather. And one little sting could be so powerful as to interrupt and change the whole atmosphere of the day. So, looking back on this day, what will I remember? That I had a beautiful day with gorgeous weather and productivity? This is the day I finally repaired my garage door! It works now without scraping the floor and falling off of the hinges! Or will I remember the sting of the wasp, the pain, and the surprise of the attack.

You know what? I'll remember it for the lesson of the wasp. That even though the sting is powerful, the attack intense... I can choose to relish in the good things that happened, and make even the sting a good thing. Thank you, Wasp, for reminding me that a little sting doesn't have to be the whole day. Just a moment of the day, another incident, experience, lesson. Interrupted, yes. Ruined, no.