The isolation of antiquities

I have a collection of antiques from Green Hall Pottery. It is proudly displayed in an open cupboard in my living room. It is not used anymore except to hold coins for bingo. Just like we, here in assisted living, are a collection of die-hards displayed proudly by family.

We’re lucky if we’ve maintained some clout from our jobs. Some folks lose their identities when they retire. They have difficulty adjusting to a new existence. Hobbies such as painting, crafts or writing can replace all that and give you years of enjoyment.

All those great-grandchildren and great-greats take priority over grandparents, as it should be. Four- and five-generation pictures unite us with them once in a while. In olden days, the elderly stayed living with their children until death. Back then, women rarely worked outside the home, so there was someone to care for them — unlike today where it takes two incomes. In an old family photo from my husband’s side, there sat his grandpa in the front row among all his offspring. He was crippled from having fallen off a roof and lived with the family until his death.

I feel bad about having my loved ones lugging my walker in and out of their cars when taking me somewhere. Seems like such a bother, but my daughter said, “It’s just part of you now — goes without saying!”

Activities are limited, but we don’t have the energy to partake, anyway. That’s why seniors migrate to the bingo halls and casinos.

As a writer, I need the peace and quiet to come up with these columns. On TV, I only watch the game shows as all else is bad news or bad shows, often with too much drama. Even football can be too much excitement for me at times. Give me the old days where simple pleasures like a hike in the woods or following a stream to see where it led became exciting.