The Essence of Nell

The old people in my family were not hidden away in nursing homes. My great grandmother who lived with her daughter Lucille, was a calm quiet figure, sitting in the shade of a pecan tree, shelling beans or darning socks, never too busy to hold one of us on her lap. As my family members aged it seemed to me that they just became more vivid, more themselves. 

            My own mother, Nell, who had learned early in life how to be a charming and diplomatic southern belle, became more plainspoken as she aged. Even in her nineties, as she faded into long periods of silence, you felt the strong presence of her being, as if the essence of Nell was even more present in her long silences. Her warmth and curiosity shone out of her. And occasionally she would surprise us. The women who came to her home to help us care for her often shared the most intimate details of their personal lives with Nell, knowing their secrets would be safe with her. Once one of them, who had perpetual boyfriend problems, was telling me about going to a Halloween costume party. Her boyfriend was going as a dirty old man. My mother, who had appeared to be napping and who hadn’t spoken a word in weeks, opened her eyes and said, “Then he won’t need a costume.”  

            Last week I went to at a party and met Carolyn, an eighty nine year old woman who lives in an apartment above the general store in Charlotte, Vermont. Climbing all those stairs keeps her strong. She says she tells people she’s in her ninetieth year because it sounds better than eighty-nine. When she left the gathering to drive herself home she turned to all of us and said, “I love you. At my age now, I can say that to you.” 

- Anne Damrosch is a published poet and writer living in Burlington, VT  

Role Models

I count myself very lucky to have grown up with positive models of what growing old looks like. My grandmother, Lucille, lovingly tended her TB afflicted husband for years at home in their small north Louisiana town. But when her husband died, she became an intrepid solo traveler. One day she surprised everyone, just packed her bag and flew off to Paris. My great aunt Helen, an accomplished and eccentric painter and author was married to John, who dropped out of high school at sixteen to take a job. John’s first job was cleaning cages at the Bronx zoo, but eventually he became the zoo’s director. Helen and John flew around the world collecting animals, and fascinating stories, which they recounted over martinis to their wide-eyed grand nieces. I always think of Helen, who was large in every way, dressed in her favorite outfit. She had persuaded my mother to sew it for her, my mother who favored beige cardigans and trim little navy blue A-line skirts. Helen’s voluminously full skirt was made from fabric she brought home from China, printed with giant pandas munching bamboo. She always wore it with a purple vest, red leather sandals and bright green ankle socks. 

 - Anne Damrosch is a published poet and writer living in Burlington, VT