AGING BY OSMOSIS

I have always said that children keep me young. And that is absolutely the truth when it comes to my grand children.  Being around them is so refreshing and stimulating that I grow younger by the hour when I am with them.

Unfortunately I have not been spending very much time with these happy little people. In stead I am having my life and soul being sucked out of me by a rate that frightens the hell out of me. I know that chronologically I am considered a Senior Citizen but I really don't feel old. (Not counting the aches and pains of my body.) My mind is locked in a long ago time and I like to think I do not behave as an old person is expected to act.

All that changed a week ago when I began to die emotionally and mentally.

For the past week I have spent all my waking hours in a hospital with Cousin Lucille and her friends. I have received countless phone calls and visits from her ancient friends and neighbors, all of whom should be placed in the state mental hospital. Apparently when one lives in a "Senior" community where the average age is 300 you all begin to become clones of one another. Every house looks the same, they all drive 2009 beige Mercury Sables and they all play Mahjong every Wednesday, bridge on Monday and Bingo on Friday. The high point of every month is the bus trip to a local casino where they can graze over the "all you can eat" buffet. (None of them eats more than a thimble full of anything but they all come home with "doogie" bags for the pet poodles and shitzus .)  Almost every single one of them has hair that is colored blue or blonde and they wear an assortment of gold jewelry on their fingers, necks and wrists that could pay off the national debt. Their nails are manicured every week and they are decked out in matching tops and slacks.

It is a living HELL for someone like me.  The gossipy little old ladies cluck and scratch about looking for the juiciest gossip to feed on like a flock of hens looking for corn.  And I am the "new kid on the block" who is going to fuel them all with enough fodder to keep them going for the next 2 years. Every day I feel like the local news man reporting the latest and greatest breaking news to the flock of biddies clustered up and down the street where Lucille lives. I swear they are sitting in their front rooms with binoculars just watching for my car to come down the street.

But the absolute worst thing of dealing with the flock is each and every one of the hens has a thought on what SHOULD be done with and for Lucille.

They are driving me clucking crazy !!!