Deborah Jones Sherwood
  • Welcome
  • Mooning the Baptists on Easter Sunday
  • *The Elderly Lady Next Door
  • *Sparking Joy
    • Bye, Bye, Bonnie
    • Bye, Bye, Bonnie
  • *ZOOMING ALONG
    • Oh, Crap. Another Birthday.
  • *The Holiday Letter 2015
  • Valentine's Day
  • *Everything I Know about Christmas, I Learned from the Hallmark Channel
  • *Silent Night
  • My 2018 Christmas Letter
  • Christmas in the '50s
  • *'Tis the Season to be......Scary!
    • ...and the winner is..... >
      • *The SEND Button and Other Regrets
  • Happy Halloween!
  • The Man in the Red Plaid Shirt
  • My Birthday Fundraiser
  • There's No Cool like an Old Cool
  • My Day as a NIH Lab Rat
  • Happy New Year!
  • Me & Mr. K
  • *Never Buy Fish from the Clearance Bin and other Sage Advice
  • *Home Alone
  • *Ain't no way to Treat a Lady
  • *Dawdlers and Tiaras
  • Who You Gonna Call?
  • Remembering Annie
  • *Stacation in the Hood
  • *Blithe Summer
  • *Four and Twenty Blackbirds
  • Spring! When an Old Man's Fancy turns to Thoughts of ....Home Projects
  • Oh, Maury!
  • *When I'm Sixty-Four
  • *Take me out to the Ballgame...please?
  • Honor Flight
  • "But you don't look sick."
  • Are you an Old Geezer with an Extra Nats Ticket?
  • Are you the Goat who kicked me in the Head?
  • *Oh! The Places You'll Go!
  • *You Go, Girl!
Picture
​​      I am a Baby Boomer, part of a generation of post-war Americans born between 1946-1964. As a child, I hula-hooped, watched the Mickey Mouse Club, and dreamed of being a carhop at the local A&W.
 
          As a teen, I swooned over The Beatles and danced ‘The Twist.’ My hair parted in the middle and hung straight down to my waist. I wore mini-skirts, white go-go boots and hip-hugger pants. Today, my wardrobe consists of polyester elastic waist pants, loose blouses and jackets that cover my expansive middle. I often wear a feather clip which covers my thinning hair and makes people think I’m quirky.
 
          When I became a septuagenarian, I experienced a magical, cosmic conversion, transforming me from an annoying old woman into a Cute, Little Old Lady. Being a C.L.O.L. is like having a ‘Get out of Jail Free Card.’ No matter what I say or do, people just sigh and give me a tolerant smile.           
       Recently, a young woman walking toward me said, “Excuse me, but did you know your shoe is untied?” (I didn’t.) I thanked her and leaned over to tie it, when she offered, “Let me do that for you.”    
 
        Last December, a few friends I invited for a Holiday Luncheon inadvertently knocked on my neighbor’s door. They were told, “This is the wrong apartment. You want the elderly lady next door.”          
 
       The physical aspects of aging are obvious; my skin no longer fits, I don’t walk as quickly or as far, and I could swear I used to be taller. On the upside, I am no longer terrified when I catch my reflection in a store window, since I finally concluded my mother isn’t haunting me.     
 
       A woman I met at a church conference suggested I join their ministry to senior ladies in nursing homes. "That sounds nice." I responded. "Do you play cards with them?" She answered, "Oh, no. We pluck their chin hairs."
 
         As I rapidly slide down the short slope of the actuarial life table, my brain and body have become sluggish. Although, I make an effort to keep up with the fast pace of changing technology, I am embarrassed to confess I asked a sales associate at Staples for a new printer ribbon.
 
       My mailbox is incessantly stuffed with catalogs sent by companies eager to sell me items all beneficial to my aging body. Compression socks, oversized cell phones with gigantic buttons, and vitamin supplements top the list.​ One by one they get tossed into the recycle bin.
 
     Although, I have considered an ‘I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up’ button. 
​     Might be worth looking into. 


Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.