oh my, how young she looks now...
When did I turn into one of those querulous, whiny old women that charge in with a concern, complaint or comment only to find, like Emily Litella (yes, I am old enough to remember SNL when it was new & Chevy Chase wasn’t creepy), I had it all in a muddle and the government isn’t about to legislate on Eagle rights but Equal rights…
It seemed so amusing, back in them sunny daze of my yout, to watch fun being poked at the errors of my elders but now it ain’t quite so ha ha funny. Losing my voice for a year taught me to make sure what I was going to say was sufficiently important to have the tv turned down, everyone hush and gather around – mother is going to say something.
This would be followed by quizzical looks and ‘what the hell are you talking about?’. The cause of my comment had packed it’s bags, bought a ticket and sailed away on a cruise many minutes ago. No one had the patience to listen as I rasped out the context and, truth be told, I’d usually forgotten it myself by the time I had to explain it all. Cue Emily Litella in 5, 4, 3…
I learned to keep my counsel to myself and not to speak unless spoken to (I will pause while those who knew me ‘way back when’ dust themselves off and wipe the gobsmack from their faces), a skill I never mastered as a child or adolescent.
Explanatory note to the current generation of children/teens/young
adults: back when the glaciers were retreating from the plains, children were expected to be quiet, to listen to what their parents said and to heed the counsel of the elders. The saying was “children are meant to be seen and not heard.”
Well, that was the theory, anyway.
I wasn’t quite from the Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney “gee, lets put on a show, Andy” generation but I could watch them on the Siesta Cinema afternoon movie while mom had her sleepy time. Usually following her lunchtime brandy and water pick me up.
It’s great that kids are getting attention and respect. I look back and wish there had been a bit more of that when I was young; it would have helped temper my contrariness to know my ideas were being given a certain weight before being tossed aside.
On the other hand, I sort of wish we could also hold on to the idea of listening to our elders. Now we pat the old duffers on their fluffy white heads, chuckle at whatever cute little things they say, then go about our business once they’ve been given their pudding and sent to bed.
Maybe it’s just cause I’m finding a few more of those grey hairs popping up in my hairbrush these days. I guess the best I can hope for is I’ll understand what all the young folk are laughing about while I shuffle off to my room.
Actually, the best I can hope for is butterscotch or, maybe on a good day, tapioca.
There is always something special cooking in Grannie's kitchen