Disruption on the Mall

What happens when we age?

 Having missed my early morning walk, but eager to make sure I get enough exercise, I walked to the post office to mail my Christmas cards—about one mile each way. As I passed the library, I noticed a “pop-up” book sale interspersed with mostly masked buyers. I browsed for a while, but seeing nothing I couldn’t live without, I continued on to the post office, passing by the Farmer’s Market and wondering if I should stop in on the way back to buy something.

As I neared the post office, I saw booths and milling people that alerted me to a street fair!! Cool! After dropping off the mail I hurried back to the fair to see what was on offer. Artists galore lined the blocked off street on both sides. They offered paintings, clothing, jewelry, pottery, fabric art, leather work, and many other crafts along with several booths offering food. I walked slowly along by myself, fascinated with all the different wares for sale and wondering about the people who manned the booths and tried to make sales at street fairs like that. I found one Christmas gift to buy, and decided to pick it up on the return. At the end, I turned back and continued my stroll along the booths on the opposite side of the street, people-watching as I went.

After perusing the food and drink booths on a side street, (the most interesting of which was offering liquor-filled pops) I resumed my route along the main street. The first booth I encountered had something on display that I have completely forgotten. The reason my memory is blank will soon become clear.

As I glanced towards the items for sale, my attention was captured by a woman with two live parrots balanced on her shoulders. Her back was to me as she chattered with the owners of the booth telling them the names of her birds. She sounded friendly and happy. The birds were bright and beautiful—Orange? Green? I have no clear memory of that either, but I think orange. I wanted my husband to see what strange sights this fair offered, so took out my phone to take a picture. I had always been told that you are free to take photos of anyone in a public setting, which this was, so thought nothing of my impulse. However, as I tried to frame up, one of the parrots crossed to join the other on the opposite shoulder and both were obscured. I waited thinking perhaps I’d get a better shot when the woman turned around, and I could take a frontal picture of her with the birds.

She did turn around, but before I could even think, she started for me waving her arms and screaming, repeating over and over: “You’re taking pictures of me and my parrots without permission!! You can’t do that!” Startled, I stood silent for a split second as I processed what she was saying and what her objection was, while she continued to yell at me. I looked at the people in the booth hoping they could defuse her, but they seemed as startled as I was. I wondered in those split seconds what she expected when she walked around with two live birds on her shoulders, and whether or not this confrontation was a habit with her. Her diatribe did seem practiced. As calmly as I could, I tried to explain to the woman that I hadn’t actually taken a picture yet, but she continued to yell that I had, and she demanded  my phone. I wanted to show her that she was not on the camera roll, so held my phone out but she tried to grab it from my hand. I backed off as she lunged at me reaching for the phone and still screaming. I blocked her from snatching it by turning away from her worried she’d try to smash it if she got her hands on it. She darted around me into the middle of the street. Of course, the crowds passing by stared at us both and moved aside to allow the tussle to continue. (Thanks guys!)

With my back to the booth as I tried to keep the phone away from her, I’d had enough. No more apologies or explanations as she was screaming too loudly to hear anything I was saying. Sliding my phone into my pocket, I summoned my Master Sergeant’s voice, loud enough for anyone within a hundred feet to hear. I spoke sternly and shook my finger at her: “DO NOT TOUCH MY PHONE!” I boomed at her while staring into her eyes. Unfortunately it didn’t stop her. She continued to yell about not asking her permission to take pictures. However, she slowly moved back to her position in front of the booth where the proprietors still sat with their jaws agape, obviously not coming to my aid.

Then she started screaming “Elder abuse!! I’ll call the police. You attacked me! Elder abuse!” I had only blocked her reaching arm by turning, so the charge was ridiculous. She had actually attacked me. Besides, I looked at her and realized she was at least ten years younger than me. The only thing I could think to respond was, “Well, I’m older than you, so that makes no sense.” She paused for a second then continued to yell, “Elder abuse!” but I think with a little less gusto. When she paused for a breath, I was tempted to try to defuse her by explaining again, but I instead I just made a dismissive motion with my hand and said, “You’re nuts!” then slowly walked off without looking back. She didn’t try to follow. Thank goodness. 

I made my Christmas gift purchase and slowly walked home. Strangely enough, I wasn’t shaking and didn’t feel my heart racing, which is weird since I am not in the habit of dealing with physical altercations. My relaxed morning stroll was disrupted by an obviously disturbed person. Was it age, loneliness, or was it something else?

And that leads me back to my original question. What happens when we age? This is the second time in two years I have been challenged by an older person. Different reasons, but both in public, and both encounters have left me unsettled. Is it the stress of the pandemic? Is it part of the aging process that we feel entitled to challenge anyone we perceive as taking liberties? Or is it just the chance we all take when we enter public spaces? The chance that we will meet all kinds of people who may or may not be willing to get along with others, or may be looking for a fight, or may crave any interaction no matter how disruptive.

Whatever the reason, I hope I don’t get that way.

 

Why Angry?

It occurs to me there is a connection between those Americans who are angry and the blog piece I wrote about losing control of one's life to Alzheimer’s.

Perhaps those Americans who protest vaccines and masks are also angry about losing control. Why do they think that way? Because nothing is the way it used to be. The rules about the world are changing and change is challenging. Writing from earthquake country, I know that when the very ground shifts beneath you, a kind of panic sets in. Your anchoring frame of reference is gone and you feel adrift. As in Alzheimer’s, what you thought of as real and solid and true, isn’t any more. It is logical to feel anger at whomever you can blame. In a real earthquake we can only shake our hand at the gods, or God, or Mother Nature. But when it comes to human-created environments, it’s natural to seek the people or organizations responsible for taking away your sense of stability.

It is natural to protect our tribe and blame Outsiders for our troubles.  

When jobs are lost, or a pandemic strikes, we look for someone to blame, the Boss, the Company, Automation, Immigrants, Politicians (of any stripe), Racism, China. Someone must be held accountable for the loss, for the upheaval, for the instability. It is much easier to blame those who are not like us, those whose faces don’t resemble our family, our tribe. 

Even if they look like members of our tribe, those who don’t think like us can also be looked down on as Outsiders. If we start excluding those who don’t think like us, act like us, talk like us, walk like us, run like us, eat like us, play like us . . . the circle of our lives closes in so that we narrow our own choices, constrain our own freedoms, dig our own graves.

What is missing is the recognition that underneath skin color, social manners, political/religious beliefs, food preferences, we are all humans in the same “tribe”. If sad, we cry. If happy, we smile. If hungry, we eat. If thirsty, we drink. If cut, we all bleed red blood.

So what do we do with the frustration, the anger at the changes around us? How do we regain a feeling of control over our lives? How can we do that without endangering our fellow human beings?

 

Pandemic Still Here!

October 2021

By this time we thought we’d be finished with the pandemic, back to normal, on track, in the groove, dating, dancing, shopping, celebrating, all the things we’ve missed for the last eighteen plus months. Jeesh!

Of course, we who have done everything we’ve been asked, can’t help blame those who deliberately don’t. Common sense seems to have been deserted by some. It’s political, but not Republican vs Democrat. I know plenty of Republicans who have followed the science, have worn the masks, have eagerly sought vaccinations and now boosters when eligible.

There is a subset of Americans who are angry. I’m not sure why they are angry, or at what. Do they even know? Certain media outlets foment the anger so that their followers will keep tuning in, responding, spreading the hatred and anger. In doing so they help keep those advertising dollars pouring in. Why the anger? What do these Angry Americans think they will accomplish by ignoring health guidelines? They obey traffic rules, they adhere to other regulations. Why choose this dangerous way to focus their anger?

There is no incentive for these media outlets and their mouthpieces to stop. They don’t believe what they are promoting, but if they are exposed they scream “Fake News” and their followers believe every word. 

Deathbed conversions by formerly Angry American ring hollow. It’s too little, too late for their families, their friends, and for the many unknown people they might have infected as they coughed and laughed and shouted their way through society.

It feels good to vent; I get that. But vent when you are causing damage to your fellow human beings? Ignore the restrictions and vaccines when it means taking a chance on incubating the next Covid variant? Ignoring distancing and masks when it means taking a chance on infecting others? Taking a chance on prolonging the pandemic? That’s not only dangerous and frustrating, it’s childish. The anti-mask, anti-vaccine temper tantrums are, frankly, embarrassing to witness coming from adults.

To those Angry Americans who scream about “my freedom” I say, It’s not about YOU. It’s about others. If you don’t care about the people around you, go live off the grid where you will cause no harm. If you want to stay in society, then please:

Grow Up!

 

Still in the Pandemic

 Holy Moly! Too many weeks since I've posted here. 

It's now August 20, 2021 and the Covid-19 Pandemic is once more raging. A new variant, the Delta Variant has roared into our lives. It is especially deadly for unvaccinated people, but even the vaccinated are vulnerable. 

Masks are required inside buildings again in California. School children are required to mask up in the classroom and to socially distance, but at least they are in school. We are all so tired of this constant need to be careful, to mask up, to stay distant from others, to obey the rules. But some still protest the need, ignore the science, defy the regulations, and harass the careful. 

This week they say we need booster shots after eight months. I thought we'd be safe for at least a year, like the flu shots, but apparently not. The trouble is so many of the effects of the virus and its behavior are unknown. Scientists research and pass on the information but too many are critical that the information changes. Of course it changes! As more is learned, we hope they adapt and change recommendations to accommodate that knowledge. 

I have no patience for grown-ups who behave like spoiled children. "I don't WANT to wear a mask, so I'm not gonna!" No one wants to wear a mask, but we do it to protect those around us. I just want to say to them: "GROW UP!"

Das all folks.

Cheers,

Mary

Christmas 2020

Aging and Control

 

Last night I watched Elizabeth is Missing with Glenda Jackson as the main protagonist, Maude. She is an elderly woman in the early stages of Alzheimer’s who lives alone. In the first few scenes, we notice signs on the cupboards and doors describing what is inside, and one on the front door reminds her to lock up. Maude also compulsively writes notes “so I can remember” she says. We soon understand that her condition comes and goes. She remembers to work in the garden with her friend Elizabeth, but on another visit she can’t remember which house belongs to Elizabeth, until she does. Despite the satisfactory resolution of the main mystery, we see Maude slowly devolve until she cannot be trusted to live alone. She causes heartache and havoc in the lives of her daughter and granddaughter. What Jackson does so well is illustrate the deep frustration of Maude as she understands her memory is erratic and fading. She knows she has “spaces” in her head, and at one poignant moment she cries when she realizes she hadn’t recognized her daughter.

Another movie out right now is The Father with Anthony Hopkins playing the title role. I haven’t had the courage to watch it yet, but the trailers show us another tale of descent into Alzheimer’s and the agony of a daughter watching it happen and trying to humanely cope.

As an aging woman living with an aging man with contemporaries who are also aging, it occurs to me that the primary cause for any upset is the lack of control. First we retire, which means loss of meaningful contribution to the world around us. The small (or large) circle of duties we performed each day was under our control. Then it wasn’t. Our body, the body that once birthed babies, fed them, rocked them, plucked them from danger, hugged them, clapped for them, with a heart that ached for them, ears that heard them, that body begins to fail. The mind that could calculate equations in seconds, that could balance a budget of thousands, that remembered names from years ago, that mind, slowly, slowly, develops blank spots, lapses, only to fill in those blanks hours later—or not at all. Control over the body and over the mind lessens with every year.

Hardest of all is the loss of respect from others. Checkers who once saw a strong, stalwart individual, now ask if you need help with the groceries. Bank clerks speak slowly and perhaps a little louder as you ask them to repeat a question. Grown children who once asked for permission to stay out late, start questioning your decisions. They want to reorganize your life, change things, when you want them to stay the same. Children you once controlled, now try to control you.

That lack of control hurts the most of all. It comes to us all. Knowing that is easy, but accepting it is not. So, like Maude, we fight. We fight to retain control before we lose it all.