I DO! I am so in love with the majority of people over 76. I have come to the conclusion old people are teenagers with wrinkles. They tell dirty jokes, they cuss like sailors, they pull practical jokes, they make fun of each other, then they do it all again the next day because they can't remember they already did it.
When I worked at the nursing home, we had a precious lady named Mrs. C that had Alzheimer's disease. She was able to walk and dance and she smiled 24 hours a day. She had her own language and because I always teased her and kissed her cheek, she always whispered secrets to me.
"I am taking you to the Shama Lama."
"Today after gitchy goo."
Then she would dance away with that smile and I would wait with great anticipation even though I had no freakin' idea where Shama Lama was or what time gitchy goo(?) was over.
She always wanted the new resident feel welcome, so she would push them around in their wheelchair, whether they wanted to be pushed or not. And because I am sadistically mean, I would let Mrs. C make it through two halls before I would make her stop and take the new resident back to their room.
One lady, Mrs W. was obsessed with sex and penises. That is all she talked about. And she tried to pick up every man, old or young, that entered that place. Mrs. C was her personal driver(or rather pusher) and the two of them were inseparatable. They were often found at naptime asleep in the same bed, spooning.
Mrs. W. would crack jokes and Mrs. C was her personal Ed Mcmahan and laugh hysterically, even though she had no idea what the joke meant. They fought at times like an old married couple.
We had the nurse's station in the center of the room and the residents used it as their local hangout. Mrs W would have Mrs. C push her around and around the desk area. Mrs. C would wave at me, then walk and walk, then look up when I called her name and wave again, only not ever remembering she waved the first time. It was a new suprise every time and I could have done that ALL day long. It was hysterical.
Mrs W and Mrs C both loved jewelry and makeup and were always dolled-up to the hilt. It was precious and I longed to go see them and hear what funny things they would say every weekend.
If I have to lose my mind to the horrible Alz monster, I pray that I am lucky enough to be like Mrs. C, who dances like no one is watching and smiles all the time.
But knowing my luck I will be the old hag in the corner, pissing all down my leg, flipping everyone off with my boney crooked finger and hissing, "Fuck you, Bitch!"
But I won't really mean it.
Boole”s inequality for continuous pdf
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