Tag: almost daily selfie

An only child who grew up living with just her mother, it’s not hard to see why Maga treasures her large family.

“Why didn’t Nana ever get re-married?” I ask.

“She knew a few men, dated a little, but nothing ever took. I wished she had gotten married again because I think she was lonely for a lot of her life.”

Is Maga reminiscing or am I looking in the mirror?

“She moved out to Colorado later in life. She lived in a care center about halfway between our house and downtown. I think she enjoyed those four years very much. We took her out to dinner and on trips and up to Dillon. Plus, she kept busy over there and had many friends.”

“How is her center different than yours?”

“I lived so long in my own house and could come and go as I wanted. Here, I have to wait for someone to come get me. I was younger at my house. Plus I always had someone around. Now I’m alone from 6pm until bedtime. It’s terribly lonely.”

She makes valid points, though she misses the angle I’m aiming for.

“How’s your foot?” Maga asks, switching the topic with a dexterity born from her days of hosting parties.

“It’s getting much better, thanks.”

“Do you have any upcoming travel?”

“I’m going to Nashville in a couple of weeks.”

“I don’t think my footsteps have ever crossed that state.”

It’s one of the few places in the world she hasn’t been, and after learning that my loneliness is genetic, an erratic thrill zips through me. Maybe genetics are more flexible than I thought and maybe just maybe me and my bionic toe will leave a unique set of footprints.

Me: Sorry I’m calling so late.

Maga: Were you out somewhere?

Me: Actually, I was. On a date.

Maga: How did you meet him?

Me: Online. It’s what everyone does these days.

Maga: *gasps* Goodness gracious. Technology. I had no idea. How did you get his phone number?

Me: Email.

Maga: Email on the internet. *statement of fact, tone of wonder*

Me: How did you and Jobo meet?

Maga: We met on a blind date. He had a friend at MIT who knew a girl at Wellesley. Jobo loved to dance, but he was from California so didn’t know anyone to invite to the Junior Prom. His friend asked my friend if she knew anyone. She asked me. And that’s how it all started.

Me: What was your first impression of him?

Maga: I thought he was very nice. He was as you know. He came to Wellesley to pick me up even though the dance was in Cambridge. I came to the swinging doors of the corridor I lived on and there was a tall, nice looking man. Taller than me. I was quite a bit taller then. And we hit it off. And that started all these children and grandchildren. My oh my that was a long time ago. So you had a nice time tonight?

Me: I did.

Maga: It’s sort of fun to meet new people, isn’t it?

Me: It can be, yes. How about you? Met anyone new at your new place?

Maga: Oh. No. The only place to meet people is in the dining room. They’re weird. I shouldn’t complain, but… Oh, Abby dear. I sure hope when you’re 95 things have smoothed out a bit.

Me: With the way technology is going, I’ll probably be a robot by that point.

Maga: *laughs* I sure wish you lived closer.

Me: Me too.

Maga: But at least we have the telephone.

Score one for today’s technology.

Normally, our calls are brief and cover the weather and who traveled where, but her new surroundings are still too unusual for comfort and my voice is familiar and we were both loath to hang up.

My soft voice competed against her TV which was set to volume ALL THE NOISE. After the fifth time she asked, I stopped folding my laundry and turned my TV to the same channel. “It’s like we’re in the same room together,” I said.

Her laugh sounded less lonely. “I’m a lifelong Republican,” Maga said. “But I’m not so sure about this situation.”

Politics are never something we discuss, nor are they something I’m very interested in, but this time I couldn’t hold back my distaste for the Republican candidate. “Oh good,” she said. “I agree. I’m glad you said it first. Oh, it says his son and daughter are going to speak.”

“He has a lot of children. Which ones are talking?”

She rambled off some names I didn’t recognize. “Well, this isn’t his first marriage. He has a lot of kids. You know, it makes his stance on marriage sound a little…”

“Phony,” she filled in.

My grin lit up the room. Her mind so sharp in that moment.

“My screen went black and there are three fuzzy lines. What’s that?”

“How’s the weather there? Storms?”

“Oh, yes!”

And sure enough the emergency signal sounded on her TV and also directly in my ear (it really was like we were in the same room). She read me the warning about potential for flash floods. “It really is creepy here.”

“Were you able to bring any pictures from home?”

“Oh, yes. The one of Buck that your uncle painted. It was above the fireplace. And I have some others from the living room.”

“What about photos?”

“Of what?”

“Us! Your family!”

“Oh, of course. Tons.” Her voice trailed off. “It really is creepy here. So many old people who look and act old.”

“There must be at least one good thing…? Living all on one level?”

“Yes, that is really comfortable and nice.”

“The food?”

“They serve too much. And food they serve to the masses isn’t like a home cooked meal. And the dinner hours are not what I’m used to. And there are old people here. I have to look at them all during meals.”

I bit back a laugh. “Well, what about activities? Are there any of those?”

“Oh, yes. I played bridge today.”

“Fun! That’s so great! Tell me you won?”

“No, my partner and I lost.”

She gave me a breakdown of the three people she spent an hour with while I did my best to direct the conversation up and up and up towards the sunshine instead of the storm clouds, even though they were literally gathering outside.