Trying to Put Humour Into Being Sick –Linda Knight Seccaspina

Update

Today is Saturday, August 6th as I write this and I am back to what one could call normal?

Day 4–a Recap

I am not hiding the fact that I have “the plague” as they call it– as it is nothing to be ashamed about. This is a new reality we have to live with and I know now that I also had it in January of 2020. My doctor could not  put his finger on it because there were no antibody tests then. But, having it now just reaffirms what I had in 2020 before the surge. Instead of a few days, it was two horrid months long. We have come a long way, but these are the facts now. We have to live with it. It is the new flu– and it’s awful–hands down. 

Looking in the mirror this morning I look like Bette Davis on a bad day with a semi swollen face and bags hanging under my irritated eyes. I decided to write a blog called “I Look Like Shrek” and then chose not to share it with anyone. Do I really want people to have that impression of me? If I really was Bette Davis I would have ‘my people’ helping me get through this awful day. But I am not her, so instead I daydream about how I longed to be a movie star when I was very young.

Most of my friends know that my favourite actress is Bette Davis. There is absolutely no one that can get her point across in three seconds or less like she could. As a child I used to buy Popeye candy cigarettes and flash them back and forth yelling in my mother’s high heels,

“It’s going to be a bumpy ride!”– or something to that effect.

But, Bette Davis is not wetting her pants today and doing a laundry load of underwear. The sheer force of nature is running through my body with each sneeze. Only I am feeling the true warmth of being sick and trying to sit in various positions tobe comfortable. I am suddenly longing for the time I can stop crossing my legs when I sneeze. As Bette once said:  “Old age is no place for sissies!” and maybe I would be dry as the desert now if I was 31 and not 71.

But, once upon a time I was young and every part of me worked. My mother Bernice Ethylene named me Linda Susan after her two favourite actresses: Linda Darnell and Susan Hayward. From her hospital bed to her wheelchair at home she commanded my father to enroll me in every dance class known to man. Mother Bernice wanted me to become another Joan Crawford as she was her favourite actress and lived, ate and breathed Crawford.

My mother, who was also tone deaf, thought I was born to sing like Deanna Durbin. Every week Reverend Peacock would choose one person to perform a solo at Trinity Anglican Church in Cowansville, Quebec, and my mother called him and suggested that I participate.

Sunday came way too fast and barely standing next to the choir I began to sing. At the end, I hear no bravos in the congregation, but by verse three people are covering their mouths with their handkerchiefs. At the end of my song Dickie Miner in the front pew breaks out into a fit of laughter and ends up on the floor.

I go back to my seat and see Reverend Peacock look down at me through his bifocals in bewilderment. Miss Watson, age 69, the spinster church organist, stamps on the organ pedals and rolls into the next hymn at death defying volume. My musical career ended that day, but Bernice kept insisting that it was okay because they always had stand-in singers for Joan.

Daydreaming over, I come to the conclusion that I’m going to use up a box of Kleenex every hour and it’s going to be a bumpy ride for the next few days. There is no one that is going to stand in for me like Joan Crawford and Bette Davis, but I am lucky it’s only for days and not months or maybe even worse. For the first time in history we can stay inside and watch as much Family Feud (Canadian or American) as we want while chasing it down with a cup of Chicken Noodle Soup. Being sick has made us realize the things we take for granted in life are never to be ignored again, not to mention life itself.

Be well everyone!

Being Old is No Place for Sissies! Part 2

Being Old is No Place for Sissies

This Old House….. Linda Knight Seccaspina

Don’t Make Me Use my Senior Citizen Voice! By Linda Knight Seccaspina

Don’t Make Me Use my Senior Citizen Voice! By Linda Knight Seccaspina

A few weeks ago I received a note from a top Canadian Bank advising me that once I turned 70 on July 24, that my ‘insurance’ on  one of my investments, or was it a loan, would be cut off.  My son explained it to me like this:”cash surrender value on the policy”. I still don’t get it.

Frankly, I never expected with my inherited health lineage to live this long, but here I am.  But why did the bank pick the age of 70? People typically lose almost one-half inch in height every 10 years after the age of 40. Height loss is even more rapid after age 70. There is no doubt I am shorter, but was that one of the reasons? Three inches shorter at the bank counter and not making honest eye level with the teller anymore?

We know being a senior is not all unicorns and rainbows, but was I really going to drop dead the day after 70 and therefore be uninsurable?  Maybe when I walked into the bank one day they saw my foot that has been swollen since the birth of son number one 36 years ago and realized I wear a normal shoe on one foot and a shoe box on the other. Maybe the crepey skin on my arms caught their attention. That word “crepey” is still a new one to me.

The day I turned 60 was an important milestone for me with the same bank and they sent me several letters of warm congratulations. In the lovely letters they thanked me for being a devoted client for many years. In recognition of turning 60 they were going to give me a monthly rebate of $4.00 on my monthly fees. That’s right! Instead of charging me $13.95 a month I would be paying $9.95 instead.

I sat there and wondered what I would be able to do with the extra $4.00 savings each month. Would $4.00 buy me a package of Depends down the road? As I continued to read the letter they also told me that my banking needs might change over time, yet they never mentioned the word “70”.  The popular bank also reminded me that it was an important time in my life now and they wanted to help me reach my goals.

Goals?

What goals?

Triathlons?

Freshman College?

If I can get up in the morning and walk and talk at the same time I am on a roll for the day. So thank you dear bank for being so concerned. But now ten years later it seems to be another story. Honestly, if you think about it I am really 18 years old with 52 years experience— or 21 in celsius.  Honestly, I feel like maybe I should put up a for sale sign that says : “For Sale- 70 year-old, needs parts, but only one owner”.

When I became a town councillor I got involved with senior advocacy groups as I have always felt seniors feel less important, and they shouldn’t. Even as a teenager when I volunteered at the Nesbitt Senior Residence in Cowansville I knew the seniors felt they were being ignored and that our society values young folks more. Did you know ageism is one of the most tolerated forms of discrimination in Canada?

I was telling my friend Toby that seniors are now treated like trying to insure any home built before 1920 and he agreed. He said, “seniors make some people nervous and twitchy” and he is right. As Dr. Seuss wrote: “You’re Only Old Once” and life does not end when wage earning capacity ends. My mind is still functioning and so is my fashion wardrobe. I am still young at heart, but slightly older in some places. I am never going to change and one day I want to be that little old lady that puts vodka in the IV bags at the retirement home.  

Yes, we sometimes stumble, we suffer and we transcend, but we are positive, still have our sense of humour, and need some respect. If things do get better with age— then my fellow seniors, we are all approaching magnificence– and please don’t forget our discounts!

Related reading

Since When did the Word “Senior” Become a Dirty Word?

Being Old is No Place for Sissies! Part 2

Being Old is No Place for Sissies

Did You Know About the Golden Girls Act? BILL 69– More Homes, More Choice: Ontario’s Housing Supply Action Plan

Being Old is No Place for Sissies

Pick up your latest copy of Hometown News where you shop and read my articles and natterings.

Last night I began an online course in hopes of improving my writing. I did half the weeks assignments and seriously contemplated if anything would be useful to me. Slowly I began to think about it. There were points that the teacher spoke about that I had never really thought about.

Who was my target audience?

Who was I writing for?

I sat and pondered for awhile and finally realized the bulk of my audience was over the age of 40. I think it kind of shocked me for an instant, and wondered when I became so old.  Each day I look in the mirror and see the same person I was 40 years ago, but no one else sees that Linda anymore. I am now 65 years old and no longer wear a size 4. Well, I never wore a size 4, so that’s beside the point.

If I really was the same reflection in the mirror I greet each day I would spring out of bed each morning eager to take on the day. Since when did my face start resembling a peach? Upset with my peach fuzz status I pluck like a maniac and refuse to call chin hairs “stray eyebrows” as I once did. My natural blonde hair is no longer sultry and is dyed flaming red. Instead of a Dietrich look,  I now sometimes assume a dead on impression of Bette Davis in “What Ever Happened to Baby Jane“.

I can no longer stand people talking in loud volumes, especially on their cell phones. Do I really want to know what your “Baby’s Daddy” is not doing for you? Silently I now scream obscenities at those that bring hockey-bag loads of laundry into my laundry room. I do laundry frequently because I prefer to wear clean underwear every day. Remaining silent, I know that it would be over their heads to offer that information as they choose not to wear any such thing.  I can also vouch that these personal sparing of the briefs has nothing to do with saving the environment as I watch them  pour their “green” detergent into the soap compartment.

On a good note, because of my senior status, my bank now charges $9.95 a month in fees instead of $13.95 . What can I do with the extra $4.00 savings each month? Would that $4.00 buy me a package of much needed Depends down the road?

In summation, I guess I finally realize who I really write for. I write to entertain and provide information for others- but mostly I write for myself. Shunning the advice an esteemed editor gave me two years ago that ‘old’ does not sell readership, I publish this myself of my own free will despite supposed repercussions of being unread. Now that I am older I pay less attention to what people say- as I will never outlive my enthusiasm to write, and I am one hell of a stubborn woman. As Bette Davis once said:

“Old age ain’t no place for sissies.” 

Amen to that sister!