A serious topic today. You younger readers, think about an older person you love. A friend fell recently and, although not hurt, simply could not get up. Luckily the people downstairs heard her fall and called 911. When I thought of what the result might have been, I realized the importance of those alarm systems we read about.
Many LGBT seniors live alone and whether or not we have arranged for someone to check on us, we should seriously look into these devices which can help anytime, anywhere. They constantly know where you are and some can even understand when you fall and are unconscious.
The Internet has an overwhelming amount of information about many programs usually with a monthly charge of $15 to $30, with/without a contract, with/without an installation fee. You wear a “button” out of sight around your neck or wrist; when in trouble, you push it and it becomes an intercom and a real person answers to help, call your friends or, if necessary, 911.
However, it obviously must be worn all the time. If you are on the floor or passed out in the garden, it is worthless on the table. Being waterproof, they can be taken into the dangerous bathroom: a major site for slipping, strokes or heart attacks when “pushing” to do your business.
Look through some sites and get more information from the ones that sound suitable. If a friend has one, ask for a demonstration. Do not delay. You may need it the next trip down the stairs, walking across that wrinkled carpet or just going to the bathroom. It is hard to admit needing one, but many of us should. You know who you are. Face it.
A boast exposed, almost
Reading of the recent exaggerations in government qualifications, office expenses, mileage charges, etc., I was reminded of the long ago trouble I got into with a teensy over-statement. I was almost forced to admit to the slight embellishment, but my luck held. It wasn’t my fault; it stemmed from what we call a “senior moment” when the mind suddenly goes blank.
For example, going to the kitchen and then wondering why. Don’t understand? Ask a senior. But I digress. The exact details are now vague, but it went something like this: at a party seated next to me was a little, obnoxious, know-it-all who constantly disagreed with my opinions. So infuriating. When something about France came up, he switched to French (the show-off) and practically dared me to reply. True, I may have implied, OK, exaggerated I spoke it on par with de Gaulle, but I saw no way to avoid the challenge.
Unfortunately, as mentioned, my mind went blank; my two years of French (solid Bs) gone. The only phrase coming to mind was “Ooo la la” which I strongly doubted would save me nor would “Cherchez la femme.” I was left with the pointless “Crepe Suzettes a la mode” when suddenly the ’70s Lady Marmalade rescued me. I blurted out as rapidly and confidently as I could, “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi (dramatic pause) ce soir?” Stunned by my fluency and, no doubt fearing his own incompetence, he quickly replied in English, “Absolutely. I was thinking along those lines myself.” Later that night, I made sure French never played a part in our activities. So he wasn’t such a pompous dolt after all. He wasn’t so little either.
