I don’t think of myself as “old”.
But what IS old? I mean, when does old start? Does it creep up slowly? Is it an overnight thing – where you go to bed one night middle aged and wake up the next morning old?
I don’t believe that old
is tied to a number, an age. I have known
people who were in their 30s that felt “old”.
I had a beautiful
interaction this weekend that made me realize, in the eyes of the world around
me, I am indeed “old”, no matter how I feel or look in my own eyes when I look
in the mirror. And while at first that
was a bit jarring to me, as I pondered it I thought back to all of the “old”
women in my life, and I smiled. I have become
Mrs. Binder.
Mr. and Mrs. Binder were
our next-door neighbors growing up in Omaha, Nebraska. I lived in the same house from the time I was
born until I left for college, and Mr. and Mrs. Binder were a constant.
When I look back now, I realize
that we didn’t have much interaction with them really, but for some reason we
had an Easter tradition that included them.
Every Easter my sisters and I would get new Easter outfits. Our mom didn’t stop with the Easter dress,
oh no. We also got the socks, the purse,
the shoes, and sometimes even the hat.
We would get all dressed up in our Easter finery, and before we got in
the car to go to church, we walked next door to Mr. and Mrs. Binder’s house.
How this “fashion show” of
sorts began I do not know. But one
morning a year we would parade next door, ring the front doorbell, and be
invited into the living room to display our grand new outfits. The neighbors would ooh and ahh, and I am
sure I felt proud.
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| My sisters and me, Easter circa 1969 I think. It looks like I have to pee, but I think I was just excited about my new handbag! We recreated this photo 50 years later, you can see that at the end of this piece. |
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| My mother and I, Easter 1968 |
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| Sherry, Annette and Susan in their Easter finery, 1968 |
The only other thing I really remember about Mrs. Binder (there was a Mr. Binder but I don’t think I interacted much with him) is that she BOUGHT MY ROCKS. Once, when I was very young, I decided to start a business. My mom was taking a nap on the sofa, and I was left to play on my own. Someone up the street (it was a steep hill) must have been washing their car, because a steady “river” was washing down our side of the street. The water, glistening in the summer sun, made the small rocks that it was jumping over appear beautiful. Why, those rocks looked like gems!
So, I took the very
prettiest rocks and I lined them up on the small flat bit on the back on my
tricycle. Then I rode that red tricycle
over to Mr. and Mrs. Binder’s house and rang the doorbell. Of course, the rocks had dried by then, so they
showed their true nature: dull, gray
pebbles. But when I told Mrs. Binder
they were for sale, she ran and got some money and invested in some. That transaction made me so happy!!
I guess I do remember one
more thing about old Mrs. Binder. When I
was very little and hadn’t learned to blow my nose yet, for some reason I stuck
something up my nostril. It was either a
BEAN or a BEAD, I cannot remember. But
at that age, my version of “blowing my nose” was to wait until Mom held a tissue
under my nostrils, and then suck IN as hard as I could.
Well… The “suck in” technique was not going to work
well with a child who had mistakenly thought it would be a good idea to put a
bean/bead up their nose! My mom, home
with me alone, panicked and rushed me nextdoor, where Mrs. Binder quickly and
expertly TAUGHT ME TO BLOW MY NOSE OUT instead of IN. I have thought about that experience as an
adult and wondered what in heaven’s name made my mom think the old lady next
door would be a good resource in that instance, and how the hell Mrs. Binder
worked her magic on me.
There were other “old”
ladies in the neighborhood. Mrs. McCoubrey
– who as a child I thought was cranky and mean, but now I realize that
she was caretaker to a blind daughter and did not have any of the resources
that would be available to them now.
There was Mrs. Sopich – I never knew her, but I knew the smell of her
house. You know how every house has a
certain smell? The Sopich house had a
recognizable one. There was Mrs. Perich –
who was funny and caring and WORKED (my mom didn’t) and always had the most
beautiful flocked Christmas tree that seemed so exotic to me and juggled oh so
much – a family and caring for a disabled husband. There was "Nettsie" - the only "old" woman who was not referred to as Mrs. - Nettsie who handed out full size Chick-O-Sticks every Halloween (that all of the other trick-or-treaters thought were disgusting but I loved and felt like I had won the jackpot to get a big one every year). There was Mrs. Polak – who kept her house
sparkling clean and always had a big smile.
Those were the “old”
ladies in my neighborhood. And now I am the
“old” lady in mine.
A beautiful woman came up
to me yesterday at a sale we were having.
She was well dressed, nice hair and make-up, and looked to me to be a
strong, successful woman. She smiled at
me as she asked if I was the person who lived in this house. I told her that yes, my husband and I live
here. And her smile got even wider as
she said, “I have always wanted to meet you!”.
She explained that she
grew up just a couple of blocks away from our home. She walked by our house daily and was always
excited to see what kind of magic would be happening here. She talked about us giving away coats and
mittens (and her voice sounded so warm and lovely). She
talked about the yard signs. And she
said, happily, “One time I found a note!
It was from here. There was a note
with money. And the note said that I should
use the money to do something kind”.
I could sense the nostalgia
in her story – remembering happy times of her youth like I remember selling
rocks to Mrs. Binder. I think she told me
that she couldn’t remember exactly what she did with the money, but it
was something kind.
Meeting this woman, now grown
and living in a place of her own, made me realize that I have come full
circle. I am now the “old” lady of the
neighborhood. We have lived in this house
for 22 years – that whole woman’s life. From
the time she rode by the Big Yellow House in a stroller to the time she left
for college, we were her neighbors. I
may not have had a private fashion show featuring her Easter dress every year,
but I was her Mrs. Binder.
And I guess I am the Mrs.
Binder for loads of other neighborhood children. For Simon, Nico, and Miles. For Ixel and Baby John. For Jonny, and Rahim, and Lissy. For Ollie and Abbie. For Bean, and Xeus, and Butter. For Hareer. For Mary. For Kitcha and Sophie. For Ellie and Portia and the new kids that
come to the pantry whose names I cannot remember yet and Kitty and RyRy and Eliza and Quinn and Caden and Jude and June Bug and Daisy and Lucy and Sarah and Dex and Vahn, and, and, and many,
many other names I am leaving out here.
So, I will take being “old”. I don’t think I look it, and I certainly
don’t feel it. But if being “old”
means helping neighbor kids grow up with memories that last them a lifetime, I am
all for old. Bring it on.
And now - artwork by some my friends:
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| By Hareer |
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| By Eliza |
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| By Jonny (they are HEARTS :) ) |
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| By Mary |
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| By June Bug |
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