WHAT?
1. WHAT was a funny answer in Richard Benson’s F in Exams: the Very Best Totally Wrong Answers (San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 2011, p.32) ?
Question: “What happens when your body starts to age?”
Student Answer: “When you get old, your organs work less effectively and you can become intercontinental.”
I thought this question deserved an answer from the right demographic:
Question: What happens when your body starts to age?
Older Person Answer: Body skin thins. Veins become enormous green tunnels, visible to orbiting satellites and scared children. Though transparent, older skin somehow collects spots—yearly and sometimes hourly. These spots are less like a cute Dalmatian’s and more like a nightmare about aging.
2. WHAT is a better trash bag?
One surprise about aging is that words or phrases aren’t spoken as easily or sanely as they once were. Weeks earlier, I’d gotten scented trash bags by mistake. They were a little too pungent and not in a good way. Looking in the pantry, I was glad to see that I’d picked up the right box of bags and said, “Oh good, it’s unsweetened!”
3. WHAT kind of garden help would you like?
A friend noticed that an 85-year-old woman, in great shape for her age, had little money. Naturally, my friend picked her up on the back of her motor scooter and offered her a weeding job. She explained that the woman likes to work. “How does she get up and down to weed?” I asked.
“Carefully,” said my friend. “But she’s not good at weeding. She goes to the wrong part of the yard and yanks out the flowers.”
4. WHAT exciting product has Japan produced now?
Long ago, my mother warned me about made-in-Japan trinkets that might disintegrate before getting them home from a store. Just a handful of years later, Japan was producing wildly creative, innovative things that made Americans cheer!
Honda sold motorcycles here; but one day, they sold a car in the U.S., too. American companies weren’t worried; they knew everyone would drive Ramblers or Chevy Corvairs for centuries.
At the time, I’d never seen a Japanese car and wondered about them. Would they have temple-style roofs? Would they have seats or just pillows on the floor? I’d spend the next three decades ignoring Ford and Chevy and buying nothing but Japanese cars.
One recent Japanese breakthrough makes me a little uneasy, though. Scientists studied a problem—an olfactory offense: an odious odor from old folks. Naturally, the public demanded action. A persimmon extract soap was produced to mask “old people smell,” affectionately (or not) called karei-shu.
If a culture that respects aging is masking the scent of seniors, what possible hope do we have here??
5. WHAT in the world is streaming?
I guessed streaming might involve anglers-in-waders or an unfortunate public display of incontinence.
Then, I received a ROKU as a gift; thought it was a security camera; and wondered where I should place my ROKU, to video burglars streaming onto my porch at midnight.
While a male friend explained streaming, I nodded, as though there was space in my brain for new information. After months of experimentation, I can now see any season of Cake Boss at a time of my choosing. It gives my life meaning.
I can access The Wives of Rural Montana right after Downton Abbey for a pittance, compared to bank-busting cable. I also avoid the usual twelve ads between scenes—loud ads that sizzle cochlear nerves and bring deep emotional unrest.
I’ve made a decision. With a shaky voice, I tell my Cable TV rep, “I don’t need you anymore.”
There is silence…and then begging, with sweet words like “valued, long-time relationship” and “a faithful, special customer, whom we cherish” and “new irresistible discount for those who renew their vows with us.”
I’m unmoved. I’m saving thousands and can now afford health supplements. Without cable, I might live for years. What is streaming? LIFE.
6. WHAT happens to natural estrogen as women like myself age?
It dies.
7. WHAT might a small bag hold?
My mother loved perfumes and anti-gravity skin products for weightless beauty. She had moisturizers with exotic names, like Mystique-a-Derm and Interstellar Bliss—promising full-facial time reversal, with instructions from NASA.
In microscopically tiny jars, these mysterious creams were as powerful as split atoms and far pricier. Mom’s personal worth had to include the exquisitely moisturized layers of her epidermis.
Her perfumes, too, promised transformation, trans-local appeal and transcendence. One whiff of her transported other 80-somethings to new planes of existence. She was a one-woman adventure.
One morning, she had a physical problem. I had a sterile container, and she gave me a particular kind of sample for testing, to take to the doctor’s office. Mom’s perfumes and moisturizers came in wildly unique bags, so I was sure I’d find a small one to transport the sample discreetly through a condo lobby full of people. There was also time crunch; the testing needed to be done that morning.
Psychologically, I couldn’t bear to put the thing in my purse or in an oversized pocket. I was sure the lid was on tightly, in the same way I was sure phones would never play jazz or navigate streets.
Finally, the only bag I could find hinted that the contents would produce an exciting romantic encounter. I then handed the doctor a urine sample in a “Help Him Find You Now” bag.