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Commentary
Nonagenerians celebrate with one of their own
By Mary Ann Cook
When you throw a birthday party for a nonagenarian (90 years old) you have no idea who's going to show up--or not show up. Or when. There's likely to be some misunderstandings. Especially if the invitations are issued orally, as was the case for a recent party for my aunt I attended. The problem is that certain essentials such as hearing and comprehension may be somewhat impaired by this juncture.
My mother, age 93, threw the birthday party for her sister, age 90. Some 55 people were expected and most of them made it. We went early and it's a good thing we did; the place was already buzzing. Several people thought the appointed hour was an hour earlier than it really was so they were boogying before the table decorations were quite up or the champagne uncorked.
No matter. At least they got the rest right.
Of the handful who didn't make it, here's how some of them fared. One woman went to a different place. She went to my aunt's house rather than to the designated site, a clubhouse nearby. And she had no idea of the time since her calendar is somewhere in space. You literally can't get in her house it is so full of clutter. The health department has been called on more than one occasion. Only my generous hearted aunt would have chosen to include her.
One woman came a day later, one fell just before the doings, one had a suddenly ailing husband--well, you get the idea. And you also get the idea that society by this time is 99 per cent female. Nonagenarian men are as scarce as snow in Fort Lauderdale.
I was the emcee at this gathering and was due to say a few appreciative, heartwarming words. As was my mother. But it was with both fear and trepidation that I watched her rise to go to the microphone to give her biographical tribute--a few words, as she put it.
First off, she has never said a few words on any one subject in her entire nine decades, at least not to my knowledge. Tirades are more her specialty. She hasn't earned the (undercover) nickname "Ragin' Rachel" without just cause.
And, it's becoming increasingly hard for her to process information. Not only is she legally blind, but her hearing is very discriminatory. Even more than most of us, she hears only what she deigns to hear. So, as I said, it was with considerable unease that I positioned myself nearby (for possible prompting) as she began to speak.
But no such props were needed. She left out nothing; she added nothing. She wasn't even fazed when my aunt interrupted to tell a brief anecdote.
Should she have had a life on the stage, I wondered? Is it too late?
The judge who was present, the resident neighborhood dignitary, told her later she could give speeches for him anytime. So that was a nice coup.
And my sister and I had composed a wanted poster for the occasion which was passed out. It said: "Wanted: Margaret Chabot; Crime: Not Acting Her Age" in the heading. Now it turns out the police station is in close proximity to this clubhouse. And the judge, getting into the flavor of the hijinks, had even gone so far as to slip next door to see if he could get anyone to arrest Ms. Margaret.
Alas, or maybe just as well, no one was abroad who could or would perform such a stunt.
With all the misinformation rampant in some quarters, that could have had disastrous results. My aunt appreciates a good laugh, along with the silliest among us. But being shackled, albeit briefly, may not have been her idea of a high old time, nonagenarianly-speaking.
Two people called the next day to say it was the best party ever given. I think both of them were actually there.
Mary Ann Cook is a Los Gatos Weekly-Times columnist.
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Saratoga, California Since 1955
