Throw Back Thursday – Schweater?
Thursday is now the day to repost my favorites from six years of posting here on Older Eyes – Bud’s Blog. While I have always liked my philosophical posts best, readers prefer my humorous ones. Go figure. This one, originally posted in 2010, is appropriately about the sometimes peculiar communication between seniors whose hearing … and inclination to listen … are fading.
Next month we will be traveling to Virginia to attend the Bat Mitzvah of the grand daughter of two of our oldest friends, Rita and Barry. While I have only one friend from my side of the family that predates our move to California in 1971, my wife has a number of friends from grammar school, making them friendships with more years under the bridge than we generally mention in public. Rita and Barry used to live nearby in Irvine, California but the call of grandchildren in the Washington, D.C., area took them from us, something I understand completely. We love them just as much as when they were here so we try to get together once or twice a year.
Barry used to tell a story about an elderly aunt and uncle of his who had both become hard of hearing in their later years. He described them as having conversations as if they were living in different universes. We’ll call them Beverly and Herb and it goes something like this:
Herb: Beverly, have you listened to the weather today?
Beverly: Sweater? I don’t need a sweater. It’s hotter than hell in here. You keep turning up the heat.
Herb: Eat? We’re having dinner with the Goldbergs. That’s why I want to know the weather.
Beverly: Stop with the sweater, already. Are you ready to go to the Goldberg’s?
Herb: Yes, I know the way. I have directions.
Beverly: Take some Pepto-Bismol before we go.
My wife and I have always called it Barry’s Schweater Story … he does it with a Jewish accent. One of the peculiarities of growing older is that the old folks humor of your fifties becomes the life of your sixties, like you’re living your own jokes. Yesterday, my wife bought my son some new sheets … for some reason he’s very fussy about the color of his sheets and didn’t like her choice. As she was headed to the garage to run some errands, she told me about it. I shook my head and said, That’s ridiculous. She took two more steps down the hall then came back with a puzzled look. He’s going to kill us? she said. No, it’s ridiculous, I repeated, chuckling. She laughed out loud and said Schweater? I don’t need a schweater. Ain’t getting older grand?