Bea Riley, 112, Salutes the Simple Life

This makes me think of my grandfather.  2 weeks ago, he celebrated his 95th birthday, surrounded by children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces, nephews, in-laws and outlaws.  About 2 years ago, he had to move to a nursing home, and now suffers from dimentia and probably the dreaded A-word . . . unless he is holding a baby.  When my 1 year old nephew is on his lap, it all comes back.  His hands steady, he can remember the songs he's been singing for years.  He becomes Grandpa again.

Last August, at the local county fair, our family celebrated 100 years on the same farm.  The quarter section surrounding my grandfathers now-empty house was first purchased by his father, a German immigrant, and has been under the plow ever since.  Right now my uncle is plotting his way towards harvest, if the rain would let up long enough to allow a combine to go into the fields without sinking axle-deep.  His daughter is thinking of moving into the old house, and her fiance is something of a farmer as well.  We don't know yet if this is the last generation of farmers in the family or not.  It's not a big opperation.  Just a small Nebraska family farm.

The simple life is what we all once strode towards;  it was a utopia, where all the day's worries were taken care of with a little hard work, a bit of sweat, and a few choice curse words added to a mallet swing.  If the phone rang, it meant a visitor was coming or an old friend needed help (either with planting or with being planted).  There would be time to read, the TV would grow dusty with disuse, and a visit included just enough libation to keep the stories flowing.  Hobbies, like carving duck lures, would fill a few hours.

When we get down to it, the simple life has moved out of reach for so many.  It requires a slow pulse, a good list of priorities (most things wouldn't make the list), and an ability to go for a walk without any reason whatsoever.

The Oldest Person in the World story is always interesting, and usually amazing. This is a lovely one, but I'm too dull-witted tonight to riff on it...

Mike, yours was even better!

The number 100 is a bittersweet one... I have several aunts and uncles in their 90s and I'm very conscious that they will flicker out, one by one, over the next decade.  Fortunately, with one exception, their minds are all sharp (and have the characteristic family trait -- both sides of my 'tree' -- a sense of humor).  I wish I lived closer to them, but another family trait, wanderlust, tears us apart.  I suppose time is a variation on separation, though I vividly remember my Uncle John's stories about the Battle of the Bulge and his time on the troop ship going 'over there'.  (He gave me a penknife for my fourth or fifth birthday, much to my mom's dismay, and -- unknown to her -- taught me at age five several of the 'killer' blows and holds he learned in the Army.  Obviously, every guy's favorite kind of uncle.  Heh, heh).  

This summer I attended a 99th birthday party for the sweet (mostly) mother of a friend.  Mrs. Hersey, now in a nursing home, dragged out her high school yearbooks (Golden, Colorado) and her baby book.  The diseases she contracted and survived as a small kid would make a clinician wince today.  She was quite the fashionista!  I'm not much into clothes, but she was a very attractive 20-something  Her comments about the guys she dated were interesting, too. Since there were no female students in those days at the Colorado School of Mines, the high school girls were (not very reluctantly) shuttled over for dances there.  (She proudly displays her 'dance cards', shameless trophy hunter that she was!)  She eventually married a CSM grad, but only after losing her heart to a Phillipino scion to a large estate.  (He survived WWII).  It was obvious she wondered how her life would have turned out if she had gone that road (to recurse to the famous poem by Robert Frost).  

It is increasingly obvious to me that it isn't the number of years on the planet that counts.  It's the enthusiasm, curiosity, intelligence, humor, and joie de vivre that one is able to muster in what the Salve Regina calls 'the vale of tears'.

I will turn 50 in a couple of months.  Now that doesn't seem quite so "old" to me!!!!  

We had a gal in our Greek dance troupe who performed with us until she was 91 - she was a very good dancer! She was also leading - not just "doing" - but LEADING rock climbing expeditions well into her mid-80s. I'm not talking about some little cliff somewhere, I'm talking about North face of Half Dome class sleep on the pitons hard core rock climbing!

We lost her at age 96, but she lived life to its fullest! 

One twelve? Heck I felt about 200 at 6 this morning. I may be down to about 150 by now...

overserved again. 

I love the fact that she has Irish Cream at 5pm. With the colder weather creeping in around here I have begun the same tradition after work, DH is kind of worried about this new habit, but now thanks to Mr. Peterman's article I can now prove to him its a healthy habit.  

My grandmother lived to be 101. Unfortunately, she spent her last few years in a Nursing Home but, prior to that, she had an unparalleled joie de vivre.

She spent her youth as a flapper, in the midst of a bustling city, during the roaring 20's...as the photo of her, today in my profile, attests. It was 1925. She was 20 years old on her beau's Harley! She eloped, with said beau (my grandfather), a year later. Her parents strongly disapproved of him; he was Lutheran and she was Catholic. True love prevailed. She lied when she filled out the information required for their marriage license, hoping it would keep her from being caught. They got married in secret and all that first week as husband and wife they slept apart, going back to their parents' homes each night, pretending as though nothing had changed. But, the day finally came when in the local newspaper the City Clerk published all the marriages that had recently taken place and they were found out! Her father threw her out of the house. She was excommunicated from the Church. In the end, they remained married for 71 years until they were separated by the death of my grandfather. He died at age 93.

I remember her as being a very boisterous woman, especially after indulging in her favorite Manhattan cocktail...or two. She took me to the thoroughbred horseracing track at Rockingham Park, in Salem, NH, to teach me how to bet on the horses. Never was she afraid to tell you exactly what she thought about anyone or anything. If you were in need, she would have given you the shirt off her back. She danced, went bowling, played cards, and traveled as much as she could - even if it meant leaving grandpa (more of a homebody, who loved his garden) at home.

When my grandfather died, my mother found it incredible that no arrangements had ever been made by them for their inevitable deaths (i.e. no cemetery plots, etc...) She confronted my grandmother, beseechingly. Grandma simply said that they had been too busy living to ever think about dying.

She exemplified how to live life with passion. It's because of her I try to live everyday I have with zeal.

PeterLake,

My husband lived (1953 - 1975) in the Lawndale - Crawford area; 26th and Pulaski. Then, it was a predominantly Bohemian (Czech) neighborhood, now it's vibrantly Mexican.

nachista,

I, too, enjoyed your Audrey Hepburn story, and also your comment about the heat vs. humidity/rattlesnakes vs. sand fleas!

Crisp air in the morning, a view of red and yellow leaves out the window, a little fire in the evening while sipping a glass of 1977 Dow's, a sleeping kitty and a down quilt on the bed -the simple life is a very good life indeed!

My favorite seniors have been the spunky, even feisty ones. Great Aunt Marian comes to mind. I didn't develop a relationship with her till she was 96 and could barely write anymore, her hands didn't work so well. But we traveled back to Indiana to see her and stayed in an unoccupied room at the home where she'd recently been moved because of too many falls. Spooky place, ancient people in bathrobes wandered the halls at all hours giving voice to their delusions, but not Aunt Marian. Sharp as a tack, she'd argue with her daughters, both in their 70s, in the most colorful language. Then she'd squeeze my hand and say with a little smile "sometimes your old auntie don't talk so good."

I last spoke to her by phone on her 99th birthday. By then she'd outlived everyone she knew from her generation and her body had pretty much given out. She was ready. After thanking us for the flowers we'd sent, she almost shouted "I love you!" A month later she was gone.

Doc Nolan and Coyotemike,

I feel privileged to be able to read tales of your family heritage, your memories and impressions. The stories of your ancestor's lives and your family traditions are important legacies which extend far beyond sets of names and dates in your family tree. Have either of you recorded, in some way, your family/personal history for posterity? To quote Cicero: "Not to know what happened before we were born is to remain perpetually a child. For what is the worth of a human life unless it is woven into the life of our ancestors by the records of history?"

This is a friendly nudge from an avid genealogist!

I once read a sign that said " It's not how many breaths that you take but how many moments that take your breath away!"  Simple words but very true.  I take ballroom dance classes (they have asked me to audition for Dancing with the Stars, but I just can't fit them into my busy schedule, hmmmhmmm!),  Anyway, there is an 84 year old lady who takes classes with me.  She is quite elegant and fluid on the dance floor.  I am sure she was a hand full back in her prime.  She is such an inspiration.  She enjoys life with no expectations...no rush.  It is refreshing in such a hurried world to see someone whose time is probably short and yet (as Kindlee spoke about her Grandmother) is too busy living to stop and think about it.  I hope we are all as fortunate and as happy as this woman. 

Good night my friends.  

Kindlee's grandmother reminds me of someone here (albeit way younger now than Kindleee's grandma...) Olivia, maybe???? (Heh, heh)

Kindlee:  Fortunately, my youngest brother has taken over as the family genealogist from my late Uncle George.  My brother was warned by my uncle to accept the fact that only a small minority of the family would value the family heritage, stories, etc.  And my brother, just as stubborn a cuss as the rest of us collects, organizes, and researches nonetheless.  

Sadly, my son shows little interest in family history -- though in many respect he's an incredible person and overwhelms me with his wisdom, maturity, and insights.  And so I tell my customer's the many tales and stories culled from our family -- sometimes as parables and sometimes as entertainment.  And they share their family things with me.

In a totally perishable world, I offer what I have and realize that time almost certainly erases 99 percent of what is valuable.  Cf Shelley's poem 'Ozymandias':

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Fortunately I take great pleasure from my (extensive) 'time travels' (what else is history but 'time travel'?).  When my own bulb goes out, it's no longer my job to preserve anything.  It becomes someone else's job to carry the torch on... or to throw it into the water.

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Doc, that was a great compliment, but she sounds way smarter and more fun than I...

Doc Nolan,

I suppose I am a stubborn cuss, too, like my father before me, and his grandfather before him...and an eternal optimist. I do tend to see things through rose-colored glasses, distorting reality in a positive direction. Perhaps I believe that my ability to influence future events is much greater than it actually is, so I anticipate that someone someday will appreciate my genealogical efforts. If not in this generation, maybe the next, or the next. Undaunted, I press on...

Olivia: Thanks :)

Kindlee: I believe one of my aunts is the Keeper of Records.