the life of liza
forks and spoons
Old people. Let’s face it, they’re weird. The things they say, the things they do…weird. The clothes they wear, the stuff they have in their house…weird. They are weird in ways we don’t understand and for reasons we cannot begin to comprehend. Weird on top, weird at the bottom, and weird all the way through.
How could they not be weird? Their lives have been so different from ours. They lived in a time before television, a time when people listened to shows on the radio and learned about current events from newspapers. They lived through wars; brutal wars fought in places they knew mainly as dots and lines on maps. They lived in a time when gas was cheap, when efficient men in snappy uniforms pumped the gas for you and washed the windshield and checked your oil. A time when milk and eggs were delivered to your door twice a week, and long journeys were made by train or ship. Weird? Of course they’re weird.
And weirdest of all is the fact that someday, if lucky, we’ll be them. We’ll live in houses cluttered with things that have meaning for us. We’ll have kitchen drawers filled with unmatched silverware and non-ergonomic utensils, we’ll have closets full of unstylish clothes, we’ll talk about television shows nobody has seen and music nobody listens to. Our grandkids will visit now and then; they’ll think we’re weird, and rightly so, and they’ll love us anyway.
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