OLD LADIES TALKING

You heard that right

Old Ladies Talking

Ever wonder what old ladies talk about when they get together, and they DO get together rather easily, unlike their other best friends, old men.

List:

Grandchildren

Their grown children

Daughters/sons-in law; the exes

Arthritis

Rude tech support people

Bargain shopping

Binge watching TV series

Travel and everything pro and con to getting there and getting back home

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There are at least a hundred more iterations of what we talk about, but this gets us closer to the point. And that is…………(you might have to wait for it)…

In all my years of trying to understand human life (I’ve never been big on plant life), the one rescue message that keeps people from jumping off that bridge is “step away from the edge, Gilda; you’re not alone”.

Gilda is definitely not alone, but in the cavern of her mind she is the worst of the worst. Now not only is this deeply human experience of feeling like you are one of the worst people ever born, but being an old lady, you have proof.

And when old ladies talk, we have a fighting chance of feeling not alone. I know a small group of women friends who once polled each other about abortion. This is an open-minded, non-judgmental group, but they are polite enough to never ask such a question of another. It turns out almost everyone had at least one abortion, even the most zipped-up, fastidious among them. Well, who would have thought SHE??????

Sometimes old ladies get caught up in giving advice, offering help before it has been asked. This is clearly projection, yet it has marginal value. There may be a dollop of useful helpful, but the energy is so high that it feels like a victory lap for the advisor and perplexity for the advisee.

When old ladies run out of important issues, like the current threat to democracy, they might share what they’re reading, watching. listening to or learning to cook, bake or prune.

OK. Not exactly exciting, abortions notwithstanding. Men would never indulge in such chit chat. Most men I know would tune out fast. They might steer the conversation to something with purpose, clear direction, focus on a single subject, getting to a solution. But I have long known women do not want to fix things (firsthand); we want to be heard. And women, especially old ladies, long to be heard.

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So, full disclosure: I am an old lady. I have one old lady friend I talk to almost every day. Most women in my age group have these one or two women friends that are at least twice a week phone calls. I talk to my old lady sister once a month or sometimes once every three months. Why talk to the same woman five days a week? There’s not a whole lot of news there. NOT among old ladies. There are recipes, arthritis and planning trips to see the grandkids. If our husbands are still alive they make for a constant subject of marginal interest. Then there is reading Ann LaMotte in the Washington Post,

And here we return to not alone.

It takes good listening to find a common thread with almost anyone we meet anywhere at any time. And this then reveals the even larger issue: you are never alone unless you live in a cave in the Himalayas. And even there you might have a monk or two in a nearby cave meditating just like you and hoping you’ll come out for the sun salute tomorrow morning. And say hello.

When I moved away from a small town in the Catskill mountains of New York, I remember grieving for leaving behind a whole lot of “friends”: the butcher, the baker and believe it or not we even had a candlestick maker. Many local store owners had been there for decades and I knew them by name, but not much detail about their lives. Still the threads of commonality were there and a visit to the local post office or pharmacy was always a connection to people I was grateful for knowing, even if superficially.

So talking to a best friend five days a week is not an exercise in intimacy. It is a reminder of “I’m still here” and “I am here for you as well”.

There’s a familiar saying among the elders I know that we are walking each other home. Thinking back to my adventures as a child or young teen, when someone walked me home, it could be any kind of talking, but mostly casual and light, just enough to remember “you are not alone”.

Gilda wants to step back from the edge when it gets bleak, especially when she only feels the fog but not the sun. Old ladies walk each other home in all the ways we cover ground in conversation. Sometimes it goes deep, but mostly not. Deep is never far away; intimacy is ever-present but only arises as needed.

Never alone are the richest of sounds to call us back.