I moved my elderly parents ( 85 and 87) to be closer to me should (when) the inevitable starts to happen. They were about an hour and a half away in the Atlantic City area, but moving them to about ten minutes away seemed like the right thing for the both of us (them and me). They were until five years ago in North Carolina (see earlier stories), and they were, and still are, in very good shape. I've given them the same supplements that I take, and I kid my doctor, that they are his "out patients". My doctor and I believe exercising, eating right, and taking supplements the body no longer produces in enough quantities minimizes painful declines.
As the doctor says, "The idea is to stay in the best shape, then have all the wheels come off at once."
I agree, and so far, it's working for me, my wife, and my parents.
However, a Ponce De Leone the doctor is not; just, it seems, a close second.
As if to prove this point the hard way, my parents announced to me just two weeks ago, they were moving to a better location in the apartment complex.
I was glad to be sitting down.
They explained they were too close to one of the entrances, which one had to pass through three doors, each slamming behind the occupant before entering the common hallway. The dog, Candy Sue, the long haired chihuahua affectionately known as my baby sister, would bark like a good watch dog protecting her turf, and food supply.
"Okay," I said, "but I want to hire movers to do everything this time." I recalled the last move from Galloway, NJ, which I really thought would be the LAST move, really. I spent one or two days a week at that house to help them pack and get organized, when in fact they seemed more interested in serving me lunch, than working my tail off. I noticed a pattern of much more work being done when I wasn't there.
"Oh, we don't want you to work so hard," they would say.
They were treating me as if I were the parent!
This time, they said, "We just need the movers for the furniture, we can pack everything else."
Well, I was able to get over there because of the short distance, and to help ferry their "stuff" as George Carlin would say, to the new unit, but they still did work, to my worry some chagrin, after I left each day.
It's now a day after the movers, and my parents are in their new unit, almost unpacked. We just have to rehang the pictures tomorrow, and were done.
It seems the wheels are still on the cars those two energizer bunnies are driving.
Great story! I love stories from this era--a time when we actually saw people in our neighborhoods. You are a wonderful story teller. I found you on Linkedin and am now following this bolg.ReplyDelete
I really enjoyed your post. I can relate to the time when your neighborhood was your family. I didn't have much either when I was a kid, but yet I had everything. Those were the times when we shared and played and had great times with what we had.
Very well written and I believe Jess has not forgotten you. There are some people whom I still think about and wonder where are they because I had so much fun with them when I was a good.