I’ve never felt quite as young as I did last yesterday, nor as close to the end.
In the morning, chauffeuring grandkids in the backseat, I absentmindedly passed a turn. “Darn, I missed the movie,” I announced, half to myself. Ears in the back perked up and a soft voice replied, “Just make a YouTube, Grandma.”
If I made the U-turn, did that mean tomorrow morning, I’d be on the Internet with 5,000 views, each YouTube visitor knowing I’m directionally challenged?
As I forked over $26 (with discounts) for a less-than-promising G-rated movie, I wondered why my daughter splurged for cream-of-the-crop films like Toy Story, while I got stuck paying for The Revenge of Kitty Galore.
Last night I joined a good friend for dinner on her birthday at an assisted living facility that she and her husband own and operate. I arrived during happy hour on the patio. Bob, a heavy-set nice looking man with snow white hair. swished a mouthful of Two Buck Chuck white wine inside his cheeks. Walt, a slighter man, with yellowing teeth, but all his own, sipped a glass of whiskey and water with exactly three ice cubes. He wore a thin white T-shirt and black rimmed eyeglasses. His hair was thinning. And Kim drank Merlot from a straw, both hands resting on the arms of her wheelchair, both shoeless feet strapped to the foot rests.
“I got permission,” bragged Walt, “to instigate Happy Hour here at the manor.”
“From your mother?” I kidded. Walt was ninety-seven.
“No,” he laughed, his wit as sharp as ever. “My mother would never have approved.”
I filled small bowls with salted nuts and placed one in front of each happy hour participant. “We added the hors d’oeuvres a few weeks ago,” said Bob. I pulled a chair up to the table to join them.
“Next, we’ll we serving little finger sandwiches with no crust,” chimed in Walt.
Janelle was a small, easy-on-the-eyes woman. As she wandered outside, stray long white hairs on her chin stood out against the backdrop of light. I was tempted to pull a pair of tweezers out of my purse, but then remembered they had been confiscated during my last scrimmage with airport security. She chatted all the way out about wanting to call her mom on the phone. She suffered from Alzheimer’s. “Give her the remote,” Walt suggested with a smile. “That’s what I did last week when she insisted on making a call.”
Janelle hobbled behind me and put her hands on my shoulders. “Sing us a song,” Kim encouraged. She had studied at Julliard years before and performed at Carnegie Hall. 
Oh, what a beautiful morning, or what a beautiful day… I’ve got a wonderful feeling, Everything’s going my way… Hey, Hey… She never missed a word, flirtingly adding a couple of her own at the end.
A single candle — Aged to Perfection — topped the birthday friend’s grand finale, a cheese cake drizzled with white chocolate. Janelle led us in Happy Birthday as we all joined in song.
Yesterday I had seen both ends of life. I don’t know that I was ready for either.
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