Page M4 May 30,1990. This Week

PRIME TIME

Need to work something out?
Try moving furniture around

his morning I feel as

if I have had a work-

out. Yesterday was

one of those days. As
far back as anyone can re-
member, the way female
members of my family han-
dled problems was to do some-
thing physical while they
thought them out. This usual-
ly took the form of rearrang-
ing the furniture. And it
works. Whether it's the physi-
cal exercise or the change in
perspective, I always end up
with a clear mind and at
peace with myself and the
world.

scraping sound coming from
the back bedroom.

“Hear that?” she asked.
“She’s been doing it all morn-
ing.”

“Doing what all morning?”

“Why, moving things
around in her room. Maybe
she’s barricaded the door:
How would I know?” Mary

stirred her coffee, and seemed

close to tears. “Maybe some-
thing’s wrong, maybe I should
call a doctor.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t
worry so much,” I said. “Ha-
ven't you talked to her?”

“I tried, but

I had to ex-

she won’t let

plain all this

me in.”

I went down

to a friend of

mine, not too
long ago. Ma-
ry and her
family had a
comfortable
home in town.
When her
father died,
her mother
sold the farm
and moved in
with Mary

=G6oldenred=

By IVY KENT

the hall and
tapped on the
door. She
wouldn’t let
me in either.
She said to go
and make
lunch or do
whatever nor-
mal people
did at that
hour, and that

and her fami-
ly. They had a big house, and
plenty of room for the old lady
who was then in her ‘70's.

The room Mary had pre-
pared was delightful. It was
the largest bedroom in the
house, on the ground floor at
the back, well away from the
traffic noise. I was shown the
room before her mother
moved in. Mary had done a
wonderful decorating job...it
looked like something out of a
Beautiful Homes magazine.

And so her mother seemed
to find it. She settled in happi-
ly and complimented Mary on
the beauty of her surround-
ings. Everything, I thought,
was going well.

About a month later, I got a
call from Mary. It was terse.
She thought something was
the matter with her mother
and could I come over.

“Right now,” she added. I
said I’d be there in 10 min-
utes.

When I got there, a dis-
traught Mary met me at the
door. She led me into the
kitchen, and abstractedly
reached for the coffee pot.
There was a loud thump and a

she’d see us
shortly. Seemed normal
enough to me. So while Mary
and I finished our coffee, I
explained how it was with our
family.

I explained how our very
own panacea for ‘black mood’
days was to work it off, really
get our backs into it and do
something physical. Grannie
used to do it, her mother used
to do it, and I'd bet dollars to a
hole in a doughnut that Ma-
rys mom was doing it.

“T had the room fixed so
pretty,” Mary said sadly, hurt
pride rearing it’s ugly head.

“But you're not the one liv-
ing in it,” I said. “If she’s to
truly feel it her home then she
has to have the freedom to
arrange it as she wants.” We
sat quietly for awhile and
thought about it. Then she
chuckled.

“I wondered why she didn’t
want carpet, furniture slides
better on the hardwood.”

Later, when the old lady
came out of her room, she
looked winded but satisfied.
Mary made her a cup of tea
and we talked. She knew we
were anxious to see what she

This Week

An Island Publishers Newsmagazine

V8W 1M9

#30-727 Johnson Street,
Victoria, British Columbia

Jim Cunningham, Publisher
Tony Kant, Editor
Koglen Moodley, Production Manager

381-3484

had been up to, but she took
her time, savoring the tea, her
eyes twinkling.

When she finally showed

us, I thought she had done a
good job. She had made the
room look comfortable and ho-
mey rather than designer

elegant, a room to be lived in,
rather than admired.

And after all, isn’t thaty
what rooms are for?

== Basie Blaek

By ARTHUR BLACK

Few people know how to be old

he great French belle lettrist La Ro-
chefoucould made the above observa-
tion ‘way back in the 17th century. I
don’t think we've learned a lot about
aging in the ensuing three hundred years.
You're aging, I’m aging. The entire popula-
tion of this country is inexorably getting older.
More than two and a half million Canadians
are 65 or over. That's nearly three times more
than it was just 55 years ago. Within ten
years there will be more than four million
Canadians eligible for the old age pension.
And still we bend our creaky knees to
worship at the Altar of Youth. Middle-agers
spend fortunes and risk their health to have
their saggy flesh tightened up and their flab
hoovered away: The TV spews out a cornuco-

times as much as a thousand. One day last
year, Charlie bicycled 75 miles straight.

Which was kind of fitting. That day hap-
pened to be Charlie’s 75th birthday.

Charlie’s a familiar institution on the hilly
toads of Saltspring Island but he’s a foreign
two-wheeled phenomenon to the white-coated
statisticians at the Aerobics International
Research Society of Dallas, Texas. They moni-
tor Charlie’s bike exploits (he sends them a
log of his workouts). Each month, Charlie tops .
the rankings of all the exercising North
Americans in his age class.

There's another guy who provides inspira-

‘tion to all backsliding middle-aged Canadi-

ans. His name is Phil Latulippe. Phil lives in
Loretteville, Quebec and I’m not exactly sure

NOT EVERYBODY'S READY to be a couch potato at age 30: Arthur Black is preparing to join
groups like this.

pia of apple-cheeked, bright-eyed youngsters
with nary a wrinkle or double chin in sight.
Sales of “Hate-that-grey-wash-it-away” hair
dye are booming. Corsets and girdles move
briskly. Our movie stars are kids and so are
our sports heroes. NHL defencemen barely
out of their twenties are referred to as
grizzled veterans. Canadian Decathlon
champ Dave Steen retired from active compe-
tition this year. Claims he’s too old to take on
the world’s best any more.

Steen is all of 30.

I tell you, it could be a mighty depressing
world for those of us who risk hyperventila-
tion every time we try to blow out the forest of
candles on our birthday cakes.

If it weren’t for guys like Charlie and Phil.

Who’re they, you ask? Well, Charlie is
Charles Watson, a lean and rangy-looking guy
with well-muscled arms, legs like pistons and
as much fat on his body as Kojak has hair on
his head. Charlie used to be a longshoreman,
but he gave that up and now makes his home
on Saltspring Island in B.C.

For the past few years, Charlies’s been
spending a fair bit of time peering over the
handlebars of his bicycle.

Quite a chunk of time, actually. Charlie
pedals at least 600 miles a month — some-

what Phil’s up to these days. Possibly soaking
his feet in a big tub of hot water and Epsom ~
salts. He’s earned it.

I do know that six months ago, Phil was
dipping his sneakers in the cold water of
Halifax harbour.

It was kind of a celebration for Phil. He'd _
just got in from Vancouver.

By foot.

Phil jogged more than 4,000 miles in 134
days.

T don’t know about you, but I’ve got as Foor
a shotat breast-stroking up Niagara Falls as I
have of running across Canada. I see spots in
front of my eyes just bending over to peer in
the vegetable crisper.

But there’s more to the story of Phenomenal
Phil.

For one thing, this is not his first time. He
ran across Canada from east to west back in
1981.

And for another thing, Phil's birth certifi-
cate says that he was born in 1919. He's 71
years old.

That does it for me. I’m going to start
running. My doctor’s given me the go-ahead.

He says it’s okay for me to start chasing
women. s

As long as they're going downhill.

———