My mother is 81 years old, lives by herself, and won't have a microwave in the house. She's certain the "rays" are totally harmful to the human body. (Who knows? She could be right!)
We didn't know her distrust extended other forms of technology until she wound up a rehab facility last week after a minor health incident. The facility has phones only in the hallway--problematic, if the reason you're in rehab is that your legs don't want to respond. One of my sisters offered to get her a cell phone, but she refused. My sister joked that Mother thinks the cell phone will give her brain cancer and she'll die young.
She's working like crazy to get her muscles moving so she can get home--to her cat, her own bathroom--and her corded phone. Who knew this could be so motivating?
And who knew that a Bemused Boomer--mother and grandmother herself-- would so acutely miss talking to her mother on the phone?
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Reflections on the daily absurdities of life by a suddenly non-working Boomer.
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2 comments:
First of all, I wish your mother a quick and healthy return to her home. She sounds like a real fighter and I'm sure she will live to be a hundred. However, you need to straighten her out about microwaves. It's not the microwave that does the damage, it's the microwavable food that will kill you. Anytime you place a carton of garbage in a low-level radioactive device for five minutes all you get radiated garbage. Second, your mother is correct about cell phones. Have you not seen all the zombie droolers ambling about, staring into their phones? It's like "Night of the Living Dead" brought to you by Nokia. And what about those who, for some unclear reason, wear an earpiece that makes makes them talk to themselves. If that's not brain damage then I'm the Pope.
My mother will be delighted about your support of her positions. You two should meet. You could have some great conversations about the demise of all that is healthy in our world.
She is home, BTW. A helper visits each day and, among other things, fixes her lunch--without a microwave. My mom calls her "my girl" and is delighted with everything she does, except for the daily enforced marches down the street to keep those legs moving.
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