Groucho and Grandparents: Another Rant

"Age is not a particularly interesting subject. Anyone can get old.
All you have to do is live long enough." -Groucho Marx

Helping out my husband's grandmother has got me thinking about being old. When do you become old? We hear adages like "you are as young as you act" or "you are only as old as you think you are" in reference to the latter years. And in some instances it is wrong to mention the word as it has been heaped on the pile with "poor," "foreign," and others.

And isn't that the funny part of it all? Most people want to avoid making elderly people feel bad by calling them old but they certainly don't want to participate in their daily care. In fact, many are of the mindset these days that suicide is a caring alternative to life when the pains of growing older become a lot to bear. Now I don't necessarily agree with the aforementioned sayings in all instances-- yes, sometimes you let yourself get old before your time. But some people are stuck with crippling illnesses, depression, and loneliness that, despite their best efforts, knock back the desire to act and think young. But I am only 25 so what do I really know about life being preferable to death wrought at your own hands?

Just as with feminism, care for the environment, migrant workers, all the people-centric "issues" I get so ornery about, we often miss the point. We talk about rights and liberties, which I strongly believe are small matters when compared to a person's dignity. You can give an elderly person all their rights-- Alan's grandma can vote, protest, draw social security, sign up for Medicare, participate in commerce, drive, work, marry. But what good would all these supposed freedoms be if she wasn't treated with dignity by those around her? People are liberated when they are respected for being people rather than being useful. Our founding fathers missed that one, we as Christians too often forget it, and when it comes to the elderly it is seldom treated as the main issue.

Dignity folks-- get in touch with the old people in your life (even if you are old yourself) and give them some respect.

(And while we're at it-- here is a post from my grandfather, an almost-octogenarian who I not only respect but also tend to agree with on some political matters)

233 years later...

Yesterday we celebrated the 4th as best we could. I always try to pick out some positive points to contemplate each Independence Day, stop short of dwelling on the bad, and forget it all to enjoy food and fireworks.

We went to a picnic with Alan's siblings & co. and had a nice time-- in the morning we marched in the Steilacoom parade (it is a lovely old pioneer-type town that overlooks the Sound), Lucy and her cousin Sophia waving to the onlookers. Then we hung out at the hostess' house, eating tasty food and watching the kids run around. In an effort to be environmentally conscience everyone brought their own reusable plates and cups, nothing disposable (which was great, though I could have lived without hearing the words "green" and "footprint" a dozen times as it is a sad reminder of most people's ecotrendiness).

When we got back to Tacoma the three of us spent some time at Grandma's and I stayed up with her to see the fireworks in New York on TV. After Lucy was in bed Alan and I sat out to watch the fireworks over the tops of the trees. Despite a hefty fine granted those in Tacoma proper that set off firworks we saw hundreds of them go up (with the sounds of police sirens heading in the direction of the bigger displays). Just a little f-you to the law I suppose, which I have to admire when it is done in good fun and happens on the 4th of July.

Pho Sure

We are settling in to our temporary home here a little more each day. Spent the last week doing a lot of visiting-- seeing Alan's sister's new home out in the country, taking walks around the neighborhood with Grandma, hanging out with Alan's triplet cousins. The immediate family and a few friends came over yesterday for Alan's birthday (yes folks, he's 31 now).

Last week we took the bus to the mall and it was surprisingly easy; I guess we live by a good bus route. We've had pho a couple times (today included because I have a nasty cold-- if chicken soup soothes a cold pho kicks it to the curb) and have taken our biweekly trips to Half Price Books.

We can see Mt. Rainier from the upstairs bedroom, by the way. That and all the flowers and trees makes Tacoma a nice place to be as far as cities go. We are looking forward to another week of kicking back, getting a little work and reading done, and thoroughly enjoying ourselves.

Ever play Oregon Trail? I was a fan of the first, crummy version where you watched a little pair of oxen pull a little bumpy wagon past the same four mountains and rocks over and over again. The wagon wheels and axles would break, you'd have to ford a river and your things would get wet, there were people to bury because of dysentery and fellow travelers to trade with when hunger struck. And if you made it to the end you were given a parcel of land-- 100 acres if you did well, as few as 1 if you almost died along the way.

Well we've made it out west. There were no wagons to repair or oxen poop to deal with, thankfully. The plot given us, temporarily, is an old home on its way to being fixed up, lots of room and a little charm. With the curtains hung and the kitchen stocked (thank you in-laws) it feels a little more like home. I can't imagine the shock of the pioneers when they spent months traversing dusty, rocky terrain and then laid their eyes on the emerald city, on western Washington where everything looks velvety and green. To think we passed it all in a few short hours, places like the Rocky Mountains simply hills a mile below.

Anyhow, we are here. The weather is a bit chilly, something like the weather of upstate New York in summer. I can't complain as the last few days have been sunny with fluffy clouds. The people around town, as always, are a bit cranky but it is refreshing after the constant, cheery small talk of Kentucky (which I find both pleasant and, at times, exhausting). I will keep you all updated but no pictures-- I always promise and never post them so this time no promises at all.

Old House, New House

Our living room is filled with boxes, each one packed up with either our junk or treasures. The pictures are off the walls, the cupboards are swept out, the shed is nearly empty. This place has been our home for three years and our time in it has ended.

This duplex was built in the 1970's-- maybe the 60's?-- and couldn't be simpler. A brick square with three rooms plus a galley kitchen and bath. I've enjoyed the few features it has like a large pantry and good alignment with the sun (lots of sunlight despite few windows) but it is basically plain. Still, I'll miss the ugly brown carpets and robin's egg blue walls, the memories we've made here.

This is the first house Alan and I lived in as married people. Our worst fights and most tender times happened here. Lucy was born in this house as well, her first moments spent staring at the sand painted ceilings of our bedroom.

The house we are moving into is nearly twice the size, new, neat, nice. I am excited to live in a place that doesn't have the smell of a dozen other people rising up from the carpet on hot afternoons (ick). And with mounting student debt and years of school left, this may be the last time for a long time we have the opportunity to live in a new and spacious (affordable) place.

I will miss our little home nestled between the cows and hay just the same. It is the 12th house I've called home but will certainly stand out as one of the most memorable.

Homeschool Tidbit

Just a little more about homeschooling, a tiny vignette of personal experience in the midst of all the statistics, accusations, defenses, and justifications you find about the matter online.

When my mother told me I would not be returning to junior high in the Fall I nearly died inside. For 7 years I'd taken the bus, sat in a classroom, sweated through gym, ate lunch in a crowded cafeteria and savored the moments of recess. Now I'd be working out math and grammar on my own at the kitchen table next to my little sister? My friends! My freedom! I wanted to find a way to sneak out to school every morning anyway; maybe my mother wouldn't notice.

By October the knots of my life I didn't even know were there began to untangle. Friends? I stayed in touch with school friends and met a slew of kids who were also homeschooled. Freedom? Well, freedom was found in a babysitting job (which meant my own money!) and hours of time to do whatever the hell I wanted to do. Soon homeschooling felt less like a punishment for the supposed failures of public education and more like perpetual summer break with geography and literature thrown in.

Don't mistake this for laxness on my parent's part: I worked hard to get through all my subjects each day. But there was a new love affair with learning as I realized I could disagree with my curriculum and say so (so much for the accusation of homeschooling equaling indoctrination); I could go down rabbit trails of my choosing in history; I could finally spend hours on my blasted math books trying to fully understand algebra, no teacher moving me ahead before I was ready. And I read and read and read and read-- poetry, novels, plays, world literature, I devoured books with leisure and love.

Whatever my parent's intent may have been, I benefited from those years learning in their home.

I know, if we homeschool our children we are in for years of having to explain why we are not right wing conservatives, that you can be a homeschooler and an intellectual, that we do not wish to shield our children from some big world outside our home. But so what? Just as I'd never expect another person to sway from their educational convictions because of my own opinions, so I won't let the naysayers wear me down.

Just a Few More Things

We spent the last week in NJ, helping out my parents and visiting. We froze some meals in anticipation of my mom's treatment in the months to follow (who knows how it will effect her), cleaned a little, recovered the headliner in my Dad's car, took a trip to the hospital to discuss paperwork and such. Lucy seemed to enjoy herself so much just playing with Noni and Poppy and chasing the dog around.

So now we have a few days to pack up for our move across town, then a day to settle in before our trip to Washington. We will be in Tacoma until the end of August and I am curious to see how I'll weather a summer in the city (though summer in Tacoma means a chilly average of 65 compared to Kentucky's median 75 degrees-- brrrr!). Then it will be back to Wilmore for another year or so while Alan sends out PhD applications and learns latin.

But today is all about writing reviews, catching up on work. When I started this job a year and half ago it felt pretty terrifying, espeically leaving a salary position with set hours and such. But what the hell, it feels good sometimes to throw caution to the wind and I'd rather sing for my supper any day of the week.

"I would rather be poor in a cottage full of books than a king without the desire to read."

-Thomas Babington Macaulay