One of Sher's writings

[Guest guest]

Hi everybody... I was looking at some of my past writings and I thought you might enjoy this little piece. I so miss writing (and can see today where I could have "done a better job" on this). Writers and artists have a tough time knowing when to "stop tweaking".

My illness has taken from me the ability to write as I used to. Well...anyway......................

Senior Mental Health Program Newsletter Vol. 7 No. 3 Fall, 2003 - Page 8

PET PEEVES

I don’t know about you, but words like

“Honey”, “Sweetie”, and “Dear” are pet

names for my husband, children and grandchildren.

I do not like these words delivered

to me from a waitress along with my meal.

Nor do I appreciate the familiarity of these

words when spoken by a store clerk, the

person who cuts my hair or the lady at the

checkout stand at the grocery store. Waiting

in my doctor’s office, I am immediately

piqued when the receptionist and/or nurse

call me “Sweetie”. I have a name. I won’t

get confused. Please don’t patronize me

with friendly gestures. Respect me by using

my name.

I know, I know, people who use these words

wish only to be friendly, helpful, warm, encouraging, sympathetic, comforting, affectionate and kind. Everything I may need in

particular circumstances. What I don’t need

is feeling impersonal in my particular circumstance.

I think “Sweetie” is adorable pinned

on my granddaughters, who of course are

sweet beyond measure! “Sweetie” doesn’t

go with my outfit and I don’t need a label

pinned on me like a name tag at Nursery

School. I will not get lost. I promise. I have

on occasion, asked the bearer of these

cheerful greetings to please not call me

“Sweetie” or “Dear” and I tell them what I tell

you, it sounds so patronizing. Well, then we

are each embarrassed and falling over each

other to explain ourselves. More often than

not my husband and I roll our eyes at each

other, grimace and say nothing.

Another one of my pet peeves is when I see

a senior treated like a twit! You know what I

mean. If you don’t see or hear well, conversation is directed at a third party as if your brain is dead and you can’t make your own decisions. “Is she tolerating her medication?”a nurse asked me about my blind

grandmother. “I don’t know, ask her,” was

my immediate reply. “Would she like soup or

salad?” was asked of me on another day

but my answer was the same, “I don’t know,

ask her.”

I love seniors. I am one, and nobody asked me about my pet peeves but at least nobody calls me “sweetie” when I voice my opinion.

MamaSher, age 69. IPF 3-06, OR./ NasturtiumsDon't fret about tomorrow, God is already there!