Optimism
I have a new definition of optimism. It is waiting till you are 99 years old before you write a will. My neighbor Vic (he is 99) and his wife recently had Bruce and I witness their signature on their will. After we signed all of the various places presented to us by the lawyer who treated Vic like he is a dottering old fool, (he is old but far from dottering), we toasted to a long life (another optimistic wish when you are 99) with a 12 year old bottle of scotch. How many folks get to drink scotch with a 99 year old guy?
This was actually my second time. The first time, Vic and I drank straight from the bottle. He had been been going down hill for the past few weeks and did not even get up from his bed for my usual Saturday afternoon visit. As I stood up to leave, I heard him come down the hall with his walker. He peered at me around the corner as he always does.
"Shit, Donna, Just Shit!" he said after with much effort, he aimed his bum towards the chair and sat down. He looked at his wife and said "Enid get me my trumpet". She went and got his trumpet that he played a long time ago in a band at a place called "The Coon Chicken Inn" which is long gone and never would have lasted with a name like that. He lovingly took the trumpet from it's case, still shiny and hoping to be played. It's smell reminded me of the one day in 7th grade I tried to play the French horn and promptly quit band after that. I didn't have any musical ability in my genes, that's for sure. Vic pointed out all of the various parts and then tried to blow a few notes. He could make a sound with it but his 99 years, congestive heart failure and weakened condition made it difficult.
"Those days are long gone", he said with so much sadness that I felt like crying for the things he had lost, mostly because he could remember all of them - including two sons and all of his family except his wife and daughter.
"Enid bring me the scotch", he said. She was pretty surprised because he hadn't drank much for the past 15 years or so, but she hurried off to get it. "Will you have a drink with me?" he asked as she put the bottle down. Enid went to get glasses and Vic stopped her, saying "We don't need glasses".
Vic took a swig of 12 year old scotch and passed the bottle to me. I took a swig too - probably a bigger one than he did. I felt lucky to know a 99 year old guy who remembered everything he had lost but was grateful for what he still had.
This was actually my second time. The first time, Vic and I drank straight from the bottle. He had been been going down hill for the past few weeks and did not even get up from his bed for my usual Saturday afternoon visit. As I stood up to leave, I heard him come down the hall with his walker. He peered at me around the corner as he always does.
"Shit, Donna, Just Shit!" he said after with much effort, he aimed his bum towards the chair and sat down. He looked at his wife and said "Enid get me my trumpet". She went and got his trumpet that he played a long time ago in a band at a place called "The Coon Chicken Inn" which is long gone and never would have lasted with a name like that. He lovingly took the trumpet from it's case, still shiny and hoping to be played. It's smell reminded me of the one day in 7th grade I tried to play the French horn and promptly quit band after that. I didn't have any musical ability in my genes, that's for sure. Vic pointed out all of the various parts and then tried to blow a few notes. He could make a sound with it but his 99 years, congestive heart failure and weakened condition made it difficult.
"Those days are long gone", he said with so much sadness that I felt like crying for the things he had lost, mostly because he could remember all of them - including two sons and all of his family except his wife and daughter.
"Enid bring me the scotch", he said. She was pretty surprised because he hadn't drank much for the past 15 years or so, but she hurried off to get it. "Will you have a drink with me?" he asked as she put the bottle down. Enid went to get glasses and Vic stopped her, saying "We don't need glasses".
Vic took a swig of 12 year old scotch and passed the bottle to me. I took a swig too - probably a bigger one than he did. I felt lucky to know a 99 year old guy who remembered everything he had lost but was grateful for what he still had.
Comments