THEN ALONG CAME RUBY

Once I was cool. At least I thought I was. My grey hair was streaked with varying shades of pink, blue and purple and I drove a red Volkswagen convertible named Emily.

Fast forward twenty years and I thought a bicycle would be a cool form of travel. I bought a yellow Townie, coolest of cool and named him Fred. There was a reason for calling him Fred, something to do with a gift that my friend Sharon bought for my new bike, memory fails here. I do recall that I bought Fred a wicker basket for the handlebars and my friend Sue gave me a bike bell as well.

Fred…

I was cool as I streaked down the streets in Crofton, preteen boys on bikes yelled ‘cool bike’. However, I wasn’t as cool when riding UP the streets in Crofton. Cycling in a seaside town like Crofton you quickly realize the towns are built on hills that slope up and down on their way to the ocean. It’s the up-hill parts that were the problem, especially as I was getting older, white hair and all, when I bought Fred.

I fell off Fred a couple of times, he was heavy, the third time was the last. That time I was being cool, streaking down the slope on my street and making a wide right turn into my driveway. Spectacular! Only I toppled over. Bike was fine. I wasn’t. I was afraid to get back on. So, I walked.

But then and there’s always a ‘but then’, I grew even older, walking became difficult. I had a few health issues, and I was tripping and falling. Grant bought me a cane, a hot pink and purple number which softened the blow although I wasn’t ready to be seen in public with it. It screamed “old lady.”

However, a remark or maybe a warning from my wonderful doctor a couple of weeks ago changed my attitude. She reminded me that I was not seventy-five (I am 87), and things could change in a year, and I need to organize help now. I bristled, made some remark about being the matriarch of the family and I needed to be strong, and more along that vein.

Her response? “I suggest you re-define what it means to be a matriarch.”

That stopped me cold. Why was it difficult to ask for help? Why was I being so prideful about aging and my diminishing mobility? Why can’t I admit I am getting old?

I haven’t delved into redefining matriarchy yet, but I decided it was time to stuff down my pride and buy a walker so I can go out around town and stroll the Sea Walk with an instant seat to plunk down my rear when I got tired.

Ruby

But it couldn’t be just any old walker, oh no. I ordered a rollator in a fire-engine red, advertised as “…a sleek Euro-style that appeals to those seniors who are style conscious.”

Perfect! Along came Ruby!

Ruby and I will be out on the town, strutting our vibe. I might have to tart myself up a bit to live up the style conscious senior reference. I can still be cool.

And speaking of cool, Grant who sold his e-trike a few years ago when he fell and broke his hip, and bought himself a fancy blue scooter a while back, can still be seen cruising around town and along the Sea Walk where all the old ladies stop to comment on his beautiful ride. He’s still cool.

love from Liz,

who’s still trying to be a cool old crone

(I know I said that my last blog was my last blog, but I missed writing and there’s always something I want to share so I will keep going, but only when the muse strikes. Or when I re-define matriarchy.)

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~ Island Crone by Liz Maxwell Forbes

www.osbornebaybooks.com