It is usually geriatrics' hour when I go to the Lions' Gym to exercise. I was on the stationery bicycle, sweating away at 85 RPMs and listening/watching CNN on the tube above my bike, when an elderly woman shuffled up with a walker and climbed onto the bike next to me. She was wearing a blue terry cloth bathroom with flannel PJ's underneath and fluffy pink bedroom slippers on her feet. There were a couple of pink plastic rollers left in her white hair. I snickered to myself, then thought, "Oh well, whatever gets you to the gym."
After the stroke, we, her children, thought mom would be better off in an Adult Retirement Center, than in her own home. We moved her to a second floor apartment at Highland Cove, where she lived for six years.
The elevator to her floor was down her hallway, left turn and down another hallway. She would shuffle along with her walker, get on the elevator and go to the first floor dining room for her lunch each day.
One day my daughter and I went to pick up mom to take her to lunch. We walked down the hallway at a snail's pace as she tottered along with her walker. Slowly we turned the corner and saw an elderly gentleman pushing the elevator button. As he got on, he saw us approaching and gallantly held the door. I waved him on and told him we'd catch the next one. My mom glared at me and yelled, "Hold the elevator, we're coming!"
"Mom, we'll be awhile. Let him go," I said as I rolled my eyes toward my daughter.
"I can hurry!" mom glared again. Promptly, my eighty-three-year-old mother, picked up her walker and carried it as she trotted to the elevator! My daughter and I couldn't stop laughing!