I have lately become aware that I babble. By that I mean, what relevant conversation can I have with my adult children and grandchildren? Even as I search for ways to make my mundane activities interesting to another, I realize that they don’t really care if I ate quiche for lunch or mopped the kitchen floor. Sometimes my tongue gets ahead of my brain. After asking about their day, and exclaiming as to its fun aspects or not, I’m not finding much of interest to disclose.
Old age, as I have written, is a special time of life in which we melt into our newly formed habits, repeating them day by day with comfort we lacked in our youthful existence. Those who have a particular interest such as sports or the market, may share it with others whose interest interact with their own. My interests however are not those which bear sharing: a new painting, a new book, what the dinner preparation might be, and of course, my singular passions which don’t bear repeating; politics and religion. I can hardly begin a deeply felt conversation with a 40 year old grandson by trashing President Trump or the Catholic church. I have noticed a definite uptick in conversations which end with “Oh gee Mom, I’ll call you back!”
I’m beginning to analyze my discourse to make sure it can’t be construed as complaint. I always hated that when it came from elders in my own family. After my mother’s passing I came across a small scrap of paper on which she had written: When I am gone, I hope they remember that I was fun.” And she was.
I think the memories we leave should be pleasant, or at least relevant. The key as we know, is your interest in the other. I think after I gather all their information I will just hang up before I begin to babble.