Christmas Wit Da Homey

My ancient grandmother (a.k.a. Oma, or "Homey") is slowing down . . .

She has always had an unusual vigor, as if she regularly sips just enough from the Fountain of Youth to keep her spirit in its teenage form. In fact, my little brother and I often sing the "Spiderman" song of our own youth with a few slight alterations:

"Alte Frau. Alte Frau.
Friendly neighbourhood alte Frau.
Can she swing from a thread?
Take a look overhead! Hey there . . .
There goes the Alte Frau.

Is she strong? Listen, bud.
She's got geriatric blood . . . "

And so on.

I wouldn't exactly call Ruth Strosser a mentor--she tried to teach me, in my teenage years, to avoid the sexual advances of young gentlemen by using her soap operas as illustrations of good behaviour (I believe it was Ashley who was abstinent). And her moral decisions do change from situation to situation. Beseeching God to help one get through Customs when one has purchased a fur coat and doesn't want to pay extra charges doesn't exactly constitute ethical behaviour. (Note that God answered her prayers in the form of another wee old lady who agreed to wear said coat and, whilst sweating profusely, pass it off as her own. God works in mysterious ways . . . or maybe not. Maybe he just shakes his head or enjoys a good chuckle.)

That said, Ruth Strosser is a fine example of living out each one of your days with enthusiasm. She is almost 96, but still lives in her home. When she recently fell, knocking herself unconscious, she fought the emergency team who wished to escort her to the hospital.

"But I'm all ready for church!" she protested. (Why waste a nice outfit and combed hair on an emergency room, however kind the staff?)

She continues to fly to Hawaii each year, and she embraces the funerals of her peers with enthusiasm. (Why waste the opportunity to enjoy a fine spread--free of charge, of course--and to watch a certain degree of drama unfold?)

This Christmas she definitely showed the signs of aging, and I was a little sad about that. After all, we've enjoyed her through many seasons of life. I recall annually decorating her with tinsel during the many years tinsel was used to smother our gangly Christmas tree.

Where have the years gone? Where has the tinsel gone?

We love you, Alte Frau. You've got geriatric blood, and you make my kids a little nervous, but you've been our Oma for so long that I can hardly believe that there will someday be a Christmas without you.