Senior Daze

by Katie Bourg

About Katie: Having arrived in time for the Great (?) Depression, WWII, and all other 20th century problems, I am endowed with long and varied memories. Writing classes have long been my home away from home. Other people's stories are fascinating, and sharing is growth at its best. Hope you seniors will join me with your stories. Try it. You'll like it.

My grandson called a few days ago and offered me a ride to Eastern Washington. My oldest son lives on some lovely old farmland that has been in his wife's family for several generations. It is almost walking distance to a beautiful green park that is part of the little town of Chewelah, about forty miles north of Spokane. I didn't decline the invitation. I grew up in a similar climate on the edge of a high plateau, and our cold wet summer hasn't left me in the best of moods. While we have had a few good days, cold and rain always broke the spell and left me grumbling. I was ready for some real heat.

Chewelah is an interesting little town. A few blocks of business streets with old brick buildings, a place to wash clothes. A bank or two. A subway and, of course, Golden Arches. While it doesn't seem like much of a town, it has a nice feel to it. After the heat of the day, I love to sit out under the big maple trees and look out across the fields to the western mountains. A soft breeze cools the air as the sky begins to darken, and the stars make their nightly appearance.

I remember my girlfriends and I walking across another prairie to watch the stars, and for a moment or two, I feel young again.

This week I will not get to a Monday class. I will miss a rehearsal of the Stilly Singers. I won't have to weigh in at TOPS on Wednesday. I will not sing on Thursday, or make it to lunch at the Senior Center on Friday. And if I start daydreaming, I might not get this copy done for my column. I will then make the excuse that my daughter rushed me, and I didn't bring my own laptop. I will choose to ignore that this is a high tech household with numerous laptops available. If I'm quiet enough, I might get away with it, but probably not.

There are other things I will not get away with. Before I left home, I packed my small bag and laid it on the bed. I wandered around the house thinking of what else I needed to take, decided I needed the bigger bag and started to repack, knowing my daughter would be arriving any minute. I heard her at the door and ran in the other room for my toothbrush, then followed daughter out the door as she carried my bag. At bedtime, a few hundred miles away, I realized my medications were still in the small bag, sitting on my bed. This disrupted everyone's plans for the next day, when we had to make a trip to Spokane for my essential pills.

Once back in Chewelah, I suddenly couldn't remember where I'd left my cell phone. My son finally called my number, and it rang loud and clear where I'd left it on the dresser in my current bedroom, plugged in for charging.

I am ignoring the looks the local inhabitants are sending my way, when they think I'm not looking. I am attempting to avoid conversation with the sixteen-year-old, who already thinks I'm a little strange because I prefer the "Wheel of Fortune" over recently popularized ghost stories, centered in local logging towns.

Tomorrow, we will be going to a farmer's market, where my son will be selling his honey, veggies, and some very nice pieces of jewelry he makes. It should be interesting. My daughter-in-law had a training session in Yakima this week, and will not be home until Friday. In the meantime, I am alone in this little house with three generations of young males and one teenager, who has her hand welded to the remote. I think she even takes it along when riding with her grandfather on his Harley. My grandson has decided to become a vegan, and is concocting strange and wonderful drinks in his new juicer, which he wants us all to drink.

And-believe it or not---I'm having a heck of a good time.

HECK. There's another old word you don't hear much anymore.

See you next time, assuming I can remember to go home.