The Art of Aging in Style
My Grandmother the Waitress
By Suzanne Gillis
"Life is no brief candle for me. It is sort of a splendid torch which I have hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it over to future generations." - George Bernard Shaw
My paternal grandmother Blanche was abandoned in Petersham, Massachusetts by my grandfather during the Great Depression.
She was left pregnant and with two small children. She had no health or life insurance. No Social Security. No money.
She lived in a small farmhouse, with water pump, wood cooking stove, ice box, outhouse… but with no central heat.
She held the family together by working as a waitress at the exclusive White Inn. Still, my father recalled, they were always hungry and cold.
The hunger was the worst.
Still they managed to get by, my father even graduating from college with the help of those tips his mother earned.
I remember that house, just as I described, outhouse included. As I grew older, I saw the repairs and upgrades that were done through time, and more modern appliances replaced the primitive ones. I remember open meadows, flowing tall grasses, old out buildings falling gradually apart, perennial and vegetable gardens, ancient lilac trees and cherry trees and patches of raspberry and blueberry bushes.
Photos of my grandmother reveal a youthful and laughing face and snowy white hair; beautiful really. She was no haggard, worried face from a Dorothea Lange photo.
Yet even knowing how tough her life was, when I think of her, I think of apple pies and fluffy mashed potatoes and of the family gatherings she organized. I can see her now, wearing a pink robe with worn slippers, bustling about near the oven, or later at the sink washing dishes.
Blanche died at 73, washing the dishes. She died fully engaged in what she loved doing, caring for her family.
I believe it was George Bernard Shaw who said it best: "The secret to happiness is to do work you love until you die."
The key word here is "love" - because certainly millions of aging women are working jobs they hate because they must.
The search for the meaning of happiness in every phase of a life is universal but finding its meaning as we age can be daunting.
Patti LuPone just won a Tony at age 59 for her powerful portrayal of Mama Rose in Gypsy.
Cher and Tina Turner are about to launch a world touring show. Hillary ran for President and nearly won the Democratic primary. A good friend who retired after 30 years as an elementary school principal was accepted at Quinnipiac Law at age 60. Now 70 she says she is never quitting (do lawyers ever really retire?). Another friend close to 60 is intent on becoming a doctor and not in the least questioning her age or the difficult years of education ahead. There are many stories of the famous and not so famous reinventing themselves and finding happiness in doing what they love.
I am a great admirer of women of a certain age who find joy in their work, whatever it may be; as volunteers, philanthropists, professionals - or in whatever ways they reinvent themselves!
However, I am particularly partial to cashiers, nurse's aides, and especially older waitresses; those who are bursting with pride, proud of the service they provide, anxious to please, a twinkle in their eyes, straight-on, no-nonsense, do-not-suffer-fools, tell-it-like-they-see-it kinda gals.
They've got the secret and are living it out loud.
You know the kind I mean.
Kinda like Blanche.
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