That's me way over there sitting on a chair against the far wall. You're looking at the Dutch American History Museum (DAHM) in Orange City, a great place that houses a wonderful collection of Native American artifacts. For about ten years I served on the board of the museum and did numerous tours through the museum--and its Indigenous section. Health reasons prompted me to back away, and I did at about the same time the DAHM took in sufficient funding to hire a part-time administrator.
A week ago or so, she asked me to come to museum and do a tour of the Native side of the DAHM. A goodly number of people from Landsmeer would be coming in, and she wanted me to be the docent. I told her I would--I'd be in Orange City anyway for an appointment at the hospital. I could stop by at just about the time I'd be going home.
When people ask me how I'm doing these days, I tell them it's a difficult question to answer. If I just say good and they watch me take a step or two, with cane or walker, the image belies the facts. On the other hand, there are 78-year-olds all over who I'm sure would swap conditions. I'm doing okay, but I'm not going out for a spot on the defensive front-four. I'm doing okay, but, my goodness, how I'd love to walk a hundred yards without having to find a place to sit.
So anyway we do a little ritual lately when something like a museum visit comes along. I ask Barbara--"take the cane or the walker"? Most often she says "walker" because she knows, as do I, that the worst possible scenario is me falling, something more likely happen with the cane than the cart.
I took the cane. Doesn't make me look so fragile, so old.
Once I got through the urologist's fun questions at OC hospital, I got in the car and went to the museum, armed with the cane.
When our guests showed up--the firsts half of them anyway--as you might have guessed, a ton of them were using a walker. All of the first half. Every one. Not a cane in the bunch. The museum was awash with walkers, and mine was home because, because why? it suggests weakness.
I'm doing okay, all right? If you see me around, you may ask me how I'm doing, but I'll do you the favor of letting you know right now--if you ask, I'll tell you "I'm doing okay--as long as I got the walker."
2 comments:
Thanks for your honesty. It’s hard to see you in the background with a cane in your hand. What makes it particularly difficult is the fact that you still have a youthful mind, incisive thoughts, a fighting spirit (the militant/turbulent 1960’s have never really left you), commitment to justice, sense of humour, literary prowess, and clear recall of both recent and distant events. And that, my friend, is something for which to give thanks. Keep pressing on!
Warmed my heart, Jim. I ask myself the same question every Sunday morning.
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