Listening to our Elders
On April 26, 2021 by Speranza
Perhaps like myself you are consumed with dread much of the time these days but just for a moment, let us not think about The Pandemic.
The General and I distracted ourselves over hot cross buns and marmalade the other day by listening to Sir Anthony Hopkins on the radio and he was full of amusing banter and stories from years ago (hanging out with Peter O’Toole and Olivier, that type of thing) but what I really appreciate, always, is when a wise, older person (or anyone, really) makes themselves completely vulnerable and sincerely speaks from the heart. (He notes how easily he cries for example and how “the past is very present” with him these days).
Rather refreshing to hear in a judging, Instagram world.
Much of the interview centred around his latest film ‘The Father’ and the disturbing personal challenges of portraying dementia so convincingly when he himself is 83.
Hopkins shares that now that he has managed to accept his own lack of control in our totally random world, he finds it surprisingly freeing – since there is literally nothing to do, but let go.
In theory, we should be calmed by this and thus, better equipped to live in the moment but I find it’s also a bit tricky to achieve. Perhaps that is the point. Anyway, we listened in absolute rapt attention and his poetry recitation right at the end is so moving. (And no, I purposefully have never seen ‘Silence of the Lambs’ so I may have an advantage here …)
Years ago when I attended the Anglican Church, I recall a priest comparing God to a taxi driver looking in the rear view mirror and laughing as ‘The Passenger’ was buckled into a car seat with a child’s toy steering wheel. As He watched, ‘The Passenger’ – representing we poor wretches – continued to desperately turn the wheel back and forth in hopes of controlling the car.
There were restrained chuckles (see: Anglican Church) and exchanging of glances amongst the congregation but I myself did not derive any comfort or amusement whatsoever from this cartoon-image of God considering the human condition as, all a bit of a thigh-slapper, really.
Still, getting back to Those Older than Me, I have always believed that there is much counsel lost when we simply dismiss those of a certain age. Not the crabby, ranting, older people, you may be thinking of. (My brother quite rightly maintains that just because you are old does not give you license to behave like an arse). I’m talking about the gentle, introspective, often highly evolved souls that I have sometimes encountered and wish I was related to.
I’ve always felt like this, perhaps because my parents died so young and I sometimes feel that I am scoping around for a crone of my own. (Other Peoples’ Obnoxious Grannies need not apply …)
Random Fact: During the greenest of my salad days, I had a job as a care attendant at a large nursing home. There, I developed a huge fondness for two sisters named Minnie and Rebecca. These ladies had always lived together and their vintage photographs in a twin silver frame showed girls with smooth, creamy skin, soft eyes and bejewelled combs securing their hair in a shiny swoop, as they stared impassively ahead for the camera. Both well into their nineties when I knew them, their minds were no longer their own and Rebecca had started to sleep a good deal of the time. But every morning after a bracing cup of tea, Minnie ceremoniously tied a clean sanitary pad on top of her head, lending a sort of unfortunate Marley’s ghost effect. Whenever she saw me (or anyone) coming into the room, she would lean forward conspiratorially and point to her temples.
“It’s my heed, you see,” she would solemnly nod, in a soft Scottish accent. “It goes a’rooond and a’rooond and a’rooond.”
And … I kind of get what she was saying now.
That’s lovely, Sue. And a good reminder to me to go gently with my own mother, who is now 92 and spends her days listening to the CBC and,she says, remembering.
You are so lucky to have her!
My mother, 99, has recently discovered she has a phone that sometimes rings. And there are 3 buttons, one for each child. We have hilarious laughs and it is all brand new. She tells me she lives in a forest and she is going looking for her dog. So I wrote the story and she named the dog Garibaldi, which I thought was terrific. Little gems drop out of the blue.
Garibaldi is SUCH a great name – little gems, indeed.
Lovely reminder to us all to appreciate and treasure our elders while we still have them and remember that we are next……