HOME | POLITICS | SPORTS | LIFE | SCI/TECH | OPEDS | HELPFUL TIPS
|
Mar 14, 2004 Many of you young “whippersnapper” columnists out there on “Useless-Knowledge” may look upon us octogenarians as losers. In many ways we are: We lose our teeth, our eyesight and our hearing; we lose our hair; we lose our good looks: we lose our balance but, above all, we lose our friends. Dog gone it! They just up and die on us. I’m going to be 81 next month. This morning I got to thinking about my life, my age and counted the few close friends I have left in this world. I have managed to outlive all of my former boyfriends. Think they were called suitors in my early days. The last one died last summer. It was one of those wartime (WWII) romances and after 60 years, we were looking forward to a reunion that never came to pass. I have a few local friends who I see on a regular basis. In four cases, I’m old enough to be their mother and in one, his grandmother. Alphabetically, the first is Amos. He is my good buddy and handyman. He fixes my car, sprinkler system, washing machine, disposal and cuts my trees and shrubs. He is a hulk of a man of Navajo and Filipino extraction who works as a weekend bouncer at a local nightclub. He’s a great guy whom I met through another close friend, John, who you will meet later in this article. Bob is my gay friend. We met some 20 years ago when he took my late husband’s job as PR director at his last civil service job. Bob and I are a writing team. He edits my work and I edit his. Bob and his partner have been together for 18 years. He is rather conservative and is not an advocate of gay marriage. I don’t care one way or another. I think there are more important things to worry about in the world today, like the economy, unemployment and the war in Iraq. So, we remain good friends. David is my alcoholic friend. His mother and I were best friends for several years before we had a falling out but David still comes over several times a week. I don’t like to see him drink like he does, but I accept the fact that he is killing himself with booze exactly as my daughter did a few years ago. We talk about politics and world events and I throw him out of the house whenever he gets too obnoxious. He always comes back a few days later never remembering how he acted the last time he was here or why I made him leave. John is my very best friend. I have known John and his wife for more than 20 years. He calls me his “wordsmith” as I edit the proposals and journals for his various business enterprises. He has stood by me through the death of my two husbands, an alcoholic daughter and four orthopedic surgeries when I was unable to walk or drive. John has one major problem – He is a manic depressive and suffers from PTS (post traumatic stress). Everything is peachy-keen as long as John stays on his medication. When he doesn’t he has a penchant for running for public office. Like he did a couple of years ago when he decided to run for governor. That was the last straw for me. I refused to be seen in public with him when he insisted on wearing his t-shirts that boldly pronounced “Vote For John ____, Your Next Governor.” John withdrew from the race and we became best friends, again. I had one of the local politicos ask me, “Bobbie, why do you associate with that nut?” I looked him straight in the eye and replied, “John has been my friend for many years and has stood by when I needed help. So, where the hell were you?” Alphabetically, Tomi is the last of the close friends on my list. She is quite tall, thin, a very handsome woman of Japanese descent, born in Tokyo. We became instant friends several years ago following the death of my second husband when she came to the memorial service. He had been a local newsman and she had been a fan of his. The lady and I think so much alike, even though I’m 20 years her senior, it is almost scary. I have recently discovered she is my “dyslexic twin” which is probably why we have so much in common. We have to take charge of our lives, to the consternation of many around us, so we aren’t lost the moment we turn a corner. We don’t know our left from our right. I still know lots of people in town but seldom see them any more as I don’t get around much anymore. I had to retire, some years back, from my columnist job on a local publication when my first hip replacement surgery left me with nerve damage and unable to drive for a year and a half. There are always new people to meet. This morning I went to Sam’s Club for shopping and Sunday brunch. You know - the samples of food and beverages handed out by the demonstrators throughout the store. I got a snippet of French fried shrimp from a very pretty young Hispanic girl who wore the nametag ”Carmen” on her apron. She sniffed the air, and asked, “Are you wearing White Diamonds cologne?” “Yes,” I responded. There were tears in her eyes. “It was my grandmother’s favorite scent and you remind me of her. Can I give you a hug?” She leaned over, hugged me and whispered in my ear. ”Thank you, you have made my day.” She was wiping the tears from her eyes when I walked away. I said to myself “Little lady, you are the one who has made my day. I have just found a new friend who has given me the inspiration to write an article about an octogenarian and her friends.” ------------ About the author: Bobbie Hart O’Neill is a retired print media journalist, CSU-Sacramento, ’74, with 40 years experience in the field. She has worked as a reporter, feature writer, columnist, public relations writer, magazine/newsletter editor and publisher. She is currently a freelance writer residing in Yuma, Arizona and has published a children’s book, written three screenplays and a novel. In addition, she is interested in civic affairs, politics, current events, ethnology and animals. Visit her blog or email Bobbie: bobbieo@digitaldune.net Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
||||||
|
|
|||||||
|
