Dancing Her Way Home

Age be Damned!

Mollie Burrows was a dear friend and role model for me. She died at the age of 97, having relished life and with very few regrets. I recall only two. A complaint about one of many boyfriends she'd had since retiring and another relating to how long she waited to fix her nose. She told me that, for most of her life, she'd felt "ugly." That men didn't often ask her out on a date. Sometime in her 60s, she made a bold move, visited a cosmetic surgeon, and found herself in demand.

"I'm telling you," she said to me, "I was ugly as an old fence. Then I got my nose done. I only wish I'd done it sooner." Well into her 90s, Mollie would laugh and tell me about her late-in-life beaus, joyfully recounting her dates and dancing and singing – and still holding out hope of a new romance.

Molly lived alone in a second-story apartment accessed by a set of concrete stairs that scared everyone but her. I remember celebrating her 92nd birthday with her, in which she indulged in a cocktail and two glasses of wine. It was the only time she agreed to let someone escort her up those stairs.

On her 95th, Mollie rented a ballroom and threw herself a birthday bash, complete with a deejay spinning all her favorites. She was resplendent in a striking blue evening dress with a pearl necklace, her makeup just so. Mollie's always-perfect blonde hair was swept into a bouffant of waves reminiscent of movie queens of the 1950s. To ensure she'd fully enjoy the evening, she hired a lithe, debonair dance instructor wearing a tux to be her partner for the evening. "I don't like to stumble around with men who can't dance," she told me. "It's a waste of my time."

When I first had the fortune to meet her, she was already in her 80s and knew absolutely what her life was about. She'd reminisce about the war years when she lived in Berkeley and danced with GIs on weekends. I'm pretty sure that's where she developed an encyclopedic memory for songs she could sing word-for-word - and often did. This love of tunes from the 30s to the 60s was something we shared, along with a passion for the dignities and rights of aging.

Mollie was a pioneer in the movement to demand respect for the elders among us. Nothing made her angrier than to have someone call her "dear" or "sweetie" or talk down to her as if she didn't hear or understand, strictly based on her age. Thus, Mollie was great company when I had a few speaking engagements with Eskaton to talk about ageism in America. Mollie said over and over again – that this is the new frontier of discrimination. Together we made business cards to hand out to young transgressors that offered them advice: "I am not your sweetie, not your dear, not your honey. I am not your young lady. Been there, done that! I am your elder. Thank you for your respect."

Mollie lived a fierce life and didn't slow down her pace even after she agreed to move into an independent living community at the age of 94. For the first few weeks, she was a specter of anger about the move, and her dislike of the place laced every conversation with those of us who had urged her to move to a safer environment. But in her irrepressible fashion, she soon found ways to enjoy the company of her agemates. While she still would curse about the meals served in the dining room, she lauded the residents. "You would not believe what some of these people have done," she told me. "They're amazing. Accomplished. No one should ever sell them short!" She even joined the daily exercise program but dropped out after a week, "I like my own routine," she said. "Theirs is too easy. Not challenging. Wimpy." She raised her own profile by starting a weekly competition of the musical game "Encore." Every lyric to every song before 1965 and beyond. No one could beat her.  Mollie was also one of the first people to read my mystery book. I asked what she thought. "Well, I really enjoyed it," she said. "It's just as good as any of those books you pick up at the grocery store!" I was thrilled with that review and included it in my publicity.

Our world is populated with Mollies – people who've lived long, robust lives and carry with them stories, memories, experiences, and wisdom that only time and distance can build. People who can teach us all a great deal. There was a time in our history when family life was structured to let that happen naturally. Before the Industrial Revolution, elders were the source of inherited wealth and trades. They served as the head of families, making decisions and building value throughout their lives and then passing on the baton.

The dynamic is vastly different now, but not the reality. Elders still retain the value that only accrues with time and experience. If only we are smart enough to listen.

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Thank you for reading! I respect and appreciate your time. Here's a question with likely no right answer, but I'm curious what you think: If an artist makes a painting, writes a book or poem, or composes a symphony, and the work goes from the creator to a locked room forever - is it still art? Let me hear from you.

And thank you to the many people who wrote to share their experiences in consciously spreading kindness in daily life. You all keep me from feeling cynical about humans. Your notes were touching and encouraging! Let me hear from you at darby@darbypatterson.com .

Check out my 4.5+ Star cozy mystery on Amazon … “The Song of Jackass Creek”