Slice of Life: A reminder about age

On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

On Saturday. night, I was in New York City and went to see The Queen of Versailles. Until this show became the group choice, I didn't know a whole lot about the plot. It's based on the documentary about the Siegel family who were hit hard by the economic crash in 2008. To be honest, the premise hit a little close to home (pun intended) because, as a builder's wife, I was also hit hard in 2008. (Another story for another day.)

All that being said, I'm 58. My one little word for 2025 has been heal, and I've had "old people" surgeries this year, including the removal of a toe cyst and a knee replacement. I've found myself avoiding activities I used to like doing because of the potential for pain or injury, and this tendency is a symptom of getting old, according to my wise (and older) sister in law. 

Before the play started, we had time to reader some of the bios. Kristin Chenoweth played the lead, and I already knew she was about my age (okay, a smidgeon younger), but I had not considered the fact that her character was married to a much older man. 

"Mom," Larkin said. "This is the old man from White Lotus."

We googled him, and it turns out that F. Murray Abraham has been in a lot more than White Lotus. It also turns out that he recently celebrated his 86th birthday. Let me repeat that. He just celebrated his 86th birthday. 

He sang. He danced. He remembered his lines. 

The Queen of Versailles had some good lines, some funny moments, and some emotional scenes. I definitely left the theater with curiosity about the Siegels and the references to some rocky historical moments. But I also left that theater with a renewed commitment to fight getting old. I won't be strutting around in the high heels that Kristin Chenoweth wears (but I've got three inches on her if she's really 4'11" as reported on the internet), but damn, do Kristin and Murray show what's possible for the AARP set! 

Slice of Life: A metaphorical orange Callaway

On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

I played golf with my friend Nancy last week, and I'm happy to report that my drive was going really well for the first several holes. Despite the orange leaves on the course that made it tricky to spot my orange ball if it was anywhere but in the fairway, I continued to play with it. For whatever reason, I resisted the easier-to-spot white balls. 

I'm not sure which hole it was when the Drive Demon struck. I set up, took my practice swing, and focused my eyes on the little Callaway insignia that helped my keep my eye on that ball. I guess I didn't. The ball skimmed off the toe of my driver, right into the creek in front of us. Maybe it went a few feet, a far distance from the soaring 250 yard rocket I'd been envisioning. 

"Hit another," Nancy said, words that rarely come out of her mouth. 

I did (a white ball this time), and she scooted toward the place on the bank of the creek where the orange ball had entered.

"There it is," she said. "I can get it."

I encouraged her to leave it-- I had plenty of balls in my bag-- but she was already flexing her quads to scale the creek cliff and retrieve the orange Callaway. 

"Pass it to me," I said, reaching my hand toward her. "And don't fall into that mud."

Nancy handed me the ball, and, just as she set the ball into my hand, her fingers slipped, and mine failed to close, and the ball... that ball plunked right back into the creek into an even deeper and steeper spot. 

Once I was able to stand straight after laughing so hard, I retrieved it. And I played the white ball for the rest of the round. 

Sometimes people go to great extremes for small things.