Fabric Store Sillies or Age Is But a Number—-No?

240_F_94062869_e9T7dfde0AazLUREZrZFSY49Bh7tX4i2

Okay, by most standards, I’m considered elderly, young elderly, but old. I have found a great means of passing time somewhat productively.  I frequent fabric stores. They’re full of up energy. They stimulate my creative juices. Sometimes I find amazing bargains in the remnants bin.

Plus, such musing keeps my over-active imagination from going into dangerous neighborhoods.  Like who done me wrong and how I’ll pay them back w/o getting caught.  Do I digress? Yes.

So I’m hanging out at the nearby fabric store. I hear a clerk relating a recent incident to another customer.  She said the lines get quite long for customers waiting to have their fabric cut off the bolt. To remedy the situation, shoppers pull off a number from the wait list. When their number is called, they’re up to bat, so to speak.  To get their fabric cut.

The clerks do their best to mollify their bored, sometimes–hostile customers. Somehow.

Anyway, a woman in her forties approached the cutting table, took her number, lounged about waiting with little patience. Her sighs and huffs betrayed her ill humor.  Finally the overworked clerk asked her, “Are you sixty-three?”

The irked customer glared silently at the poor woman, then turned and left, mouthing curses and accusations.

Advertisements

On Technology, Acceptance, Hearing and Life

I read somewhere that the Baby boomers are comfortable with technology and know how to profit from their parents’ screw-ups in aging.  I beg to differ about technology.  I approach every new task online with angst and ague.

“How soon before the worst that could happen happens?”  “How soon before the ‘fatal error’ message flashes?” “Where’s a three year old when I need her to get me back on track?”  “Does everyone feel as inept here as I do?”

But learning from my parents’ errors (in aging,) is a different matter. My father started to lose his hearing in both ears around age sixty.  He lived to be ninety-four.  Which means my two grown sisters, my brother and I had to endure thirty four years of ‘yell and spell’ communication.  Sure he had a hearing aid. But refused to wear it.  Didn’t need it.

So, as karma would have it, I began to go deaf in one ear around the age of fifty.  I ran to the closest hearing center to get fitted for a hearing aid. It didn’t seem to help much but at least I was ‘doing something’ about the problem.  Doesn’t that count for a few points?

I wasn’t going to do that pretend-I’m-not-deaf -so-I-don’t-have-to-do-something-about-it routine.  Over the years, I consulted doctors, health practitioners, voodoo priests, whatever, to improve my hearing.

Eventually an ear, nose and throat specialist introduced me to a hearing device that transmits what my deaf ear should hear to my ‘good’ ear via wi-fi.  The result? No one seems to notice I have a hearing loss.  Or do they?