Nana-isms

Spending most of my Christmas vacation in what has kindly been dubbed "Wrinkle Village" by my extended family, I've come to realize a lot of things about getting older. First and foremost, it's nice to know that as you advance in age, it becomes justification for pretty much any luxury you can think of. This place is all about the comfort of those ages 70 and up. Drinking fountains are refrigerated to make you believe that the water has been shaken with ice and flakes of pure gold before being spouted directly into your mouth. There are no recycle bins to taunt these geezers- they don't even want them around to make them feel bad. Cans, newspapers, and plastic get thrown in with worn out reading glasses and exhausted tubes of denture cream. The fitness center treadmills are majestic and huge- like boats- with individual flat screen TVs equipped with extra loud volume control. Everything is louder here. My Nana's garbage disposal, her washer and dryer, her telephone- everything seems to be shouting, trying to reach the one remaining good ear that each person has. And why wouldn't it? It's all about the comfort of the residents.

Wise beyond their years, the elderly have the unique combination of endless worldly wisdom, irrational stubbornness, and rapidly approaching senility. The end result is usually quite hilarious. I think a lot of people make the mistake of treating the older generations like children, grimacing at their inappropriate sexual innuendos and frowning about their alcohol consumption. We forget that these are people who have been around the block, war veterans and Depression babies. They've seen it all. As a result, they should be able to do what they want. After all, they've lived a life full of insane experiences that we could hardly begin to fathom.

Take my Nana- her childhood occurred during the height of the Great Depression. Her mid-twenties were smack dab in WWII. She's seen the Buffalo Bills through their very best and their absolute worst. She should be allowed to have an occasional cocktail and off-color joke regardless of the political correctness of her actions.

So, whether she has decided to have my sister consolidate her multiple bottles of alcohol (combining five different kinds of vodka together because she can't taste the difference when it's mixed with her mixers... water and ice) or is on the prowl with one of her many social groups at Wrinkle Village, AWOL (Available Widows on the Loose, a group of over-60 women who get drunk and play cards), she can do so. If she needs to steady herself on her walk in from a 4 hour cocktail party, my boyfriends butt is not off-limits for her tipsy tottering to her throne of an easy chair.

My sister Kristin, who spent a week here before returning home to the icy tundra of upstate New York, really got the in-the-trenches experience. She had 79-year-old men calling her a beauty and 75-year-old women giving her CVS coupons for Revlon lipstick. She got to witness my Nana calling Shocktop "Sha-sha" and heard her saying "I hope the Giants don't blow their wad too early this year." She asked Kristin when the first time she "connected" with her current boyfriend. When we giggled, she snapped back at us, "Oh, I didn't mean it in THAT way!!" It was Kristin who set up her Facebook account, something for her to be addicted to besides spider solitaire. The cousins and I are convinced she'll have more friends than us in a matter of weeks... maybe even a new, hip boyfriend.

It's an ongoing parade of entertainment hanging out with my family, and adding my Nana in the mix just makes it that much better. Especially when she's drunk and her filter REALLY goes out the window. Like when she asked Jack about his religious background only to tell him (after his 15 minutes explanation as to why he never had a bat mitzvah) that she wouldn't remember anything he just told her. Nice, Nans.