Reading Habits of the Elderly
WARNING: THIS POST IS NOT FUNNY. DEPRESSING ENTRY AHEAD. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
A Note Posted in the Mail Room of My Apartment Building:
I always wonder about the lives of the elderly. Look at sentence number two: She was an avid reader. I looked through her books: there are at least 30 murder mystery novels. Can’t you just see it? It’s such a cliché: little old lady (literally, she’s probably about five-foot-two) in a floral patterned armchair, maybe there are some snacks next to her (chocolates if she can still digest it, dry toast if she can’t), reading Agatha Christie novels. Maybe she got a kick out of the passion and violence, maybe it reminded her of when she was young and felt everything more desperately? Or maybe she enjoyed solving the mystery, maybe she was a quick-witted old bird?
In any case, here was a woman, no more than four-foot-nine inches tall, who clearly loved to read (a woman after my own heart, despite the murder mysteries) and was forced to give up that pleasure, perhaps the last pure pleasure she could indulge in, by what?
Can you tell that I’m terribly troubled by this? The thought of this three-foot-seven old lady, staring out the window, wasting away because she has nothing more to live for, not even the crumbs from Agatha Christie’s table, is very disheartening.
On the other hand, people might say that by offering her books to the residents of S— Place, she is somehow spreading her love of reading. Some might say this is a way (albeit a passive way) to remain a part of the reading process, to make literature available to others (in a sort of prehistoric, Googlesque fashion), to create a sense of community. Those people might be right, but I, personally, cannot help but think of what it might have cost this tiny, 2-foot tall woman.
I leave it to you, gentle readers, to choose the image that suits you best.
A Note Posted in the Mail Room of My Apartment Building:
Mrs. F. Smith residing in apartment 25 has been forced to move into a senior’s home due to medical reasons. She was an avid reader, but was unable to take her books with her. She has asked us (the management) to make her library available to S— Place residents.
I always wonder about the lives of the elderly. Look at sentence number two: She was an avid reader. I looked through her books: there are at least 30 murder mystery novels. Can’t you just see it? It’s such a cliché: little old lady (literally, she’s probably about five-foot-two) in a floral patterned armchair, maybe there are some snacks next to her (chocolates if she can still digest it, dry toast if she can’t), reading Agatha Christie novels. Maybe she got a kick out of the passion and violence, maybe it reminded her of when she was young and felt everything more desperately? Or maybe she enjoyed solving the mystery, maybe she was a quick-witted old bird?
In any case, here was a woman, no more than four-foot-nine inches tall, who clearly loved to read (a woman after my own heart, despite the murder mysteries) and was forced to give up that pleasure, perhaps the last pure pleasure she could indulge in, by what?
Can you tell that I’m terribly troubled by this? The thought of this three-foot-seven old lady, staring out the window, wasting away because she has nothing more to live for, not even the crumbs from Agatha Christie’s table, is very disheartening.
On the other hand, people might say that by offering her books to the residents of S— Place, she is somehow spreading her love of reading. Some might say this is a way (albeit a passive way) to remain a part of the reading process, to make literature available to others (in a sort of prehistoric, Googlesque fashion), to create a sense of community. Those people might be right, but I, personally, cannot help but think of what it might have cost this tiny, 2-foot tall woman.
I leave it to you, gentle readers, to choose the image that suits you best.
posted by Daniela at
Monday, November 28, 2005
1 Comments:
Wow, ya that's despressing. What image do I choose ... something festive ... maybe her all old and sad strapped to a hospital bed with green and red tubes everywhere ... or the more common image ... gun in mouth and a santa hat with white pompom.
Cheers merry blogger.
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Anonymous, at December 02, 2005
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