Dates and details are no longer of much significance to Margaret. She’s the first to admit, “My mind doesn’t work like it used to.” Likely it doesn’t, but I didn’t know her in her prime so I can’t compare. The continuity in her stories is sometimes sketchy, but I’ve learned not to make assumptions. Just when I think she’s confused about certain facts, I learn from someone who knows that she’s right on the money!
She tells me she and her husband owned a tavern and she often bartended. Her diminutive size and lady-like demeanor make the story seem implausible. But it’s true, and she shares insights. “You have to have a personality that goes with the job,” she insists. “People often come into a tavern because they want someone to listen to them. You have to be a good listener.” Margaret is that. She never mentions serving drinks, although she does say afternoons were often spent playing cards with “the old men.” Describing someone as old is humorous coming from her. Those card-playing days were years ago and likely those “old men” would seem like youngsters to her today. Margaret’s soon to be 94.
“My life is so much different now than it used to be,” she says candidly. “In a good way?” I ask and she responds, “Yes!” without hesitation. She reminisces about how things were or how she remembered them.
She talks fondly of her deceased husband. “He was mechanically inclined,” she says proudly. “He could do almost anything.” She says he insisted she learn how to drive shortly after they were married. After he retired, he insisted on doing all the driving. She cautions me never to give up driving so I can remain independent.
Her independence is compromised now, but she’s coming to terms with needing help even with basic tasks. I’m spending the day with her as her family is involved in other tasks on this particular Saturday. She needs reassurance as to their whereabouts and when they’ll be back, and she pays strict attention to the explanation, but minutes later, it escapes her. It’s mind boggling to her and others that she can’t recall the simplest of details. It frustrates her. But she possesses that elusive ability to live in the moment. Sometimes the moment is all she can manage.
She tells me change is not easy for her and minutes later she tells me, “I can’t imagine I sold my house. I had it for years.” She’s not sad, just baffled about the situation, even though her family has explained gently and repeatedly that she can’t maintain a house anymore. Still she’s amazingly mobile for her age and insists on helping with the dishes or basic food preparation.
Just before her mid-morning nap, while we’re discussing plans for the afternoon, she tells me, “If a woman colors her hair before it’s turned white, it will make her look ten years younger.” I smile at this latest bit of wisdom she shares with me. It’s nice being mentored by a lady of social graces. “I’m almost 94,” she says. Her mind may forget many details, but never her age. It’s become her mantra and a source of well-deserved pride.
It’s my good fortune to share in her stories and her experiences.