Jeannie had a pretty bad week; my dad had a pretty good week, and that ratio is unacceptable to her. It’s not as if she actively wishes other people ill, but if they’re doing OK while she’s suffering any discomfort or inconvenience, then by god, they’re going to feel her pain too.
I got an earful when I called to check in. “Oh, Gene’s status quo, but me—well I’ve had a terrible week.” She proceeded to regale me with a litany of her woes: a dental problem that couldn’t be fixed in one visit; a pacemaker appointment that never happened because the technician wasn’t in; her daughter calling in tears because she had to (chose to, actually) give her cats up to the humane society. There may have been a couple of other items but to be honest I wasn’t paying attention.
Of course, it would be easy for me to go into my sympathetic listener mode. With most people I really mean it, but Jeannie has a knack for fashioning everyday annoyances into a do it yourself Greek tragedy, so I usually pay the least amount of attention possible.
Some time ago, I recall her describing a trip they took to Costa Rica. The trip itself, she said was wonderful, but getting back was “pure hell.” I had visions of airplane trouble, maybe an emergency landing…but no, it was just a crowded airport and a slight delay.
My usual response to her complaining is a blend of upbeat flippancy—“Oh well, I guess it keeps life interesting,” or something along those lines. If I’m feeling more sadistic, then I might start telling her about an acquaintance who’s battling cancer, or someone who just lost a family member. Predictably, she retreats, saying that maybe she should be grateful, and that things could be much worse.
The stereotype of the querulous elder, moaning about this or that problem seems more a matter of character makeup and is not the domain of the elderly alone. I’ve known many old people facing truly serious challenges, but who rarely complain about their lot, or they might just mention their problems in passing. Jeannie is not of the “less is more” school and apparently believes that the more she complains, the more seriously other people will regard her problems, however slight.
She does the same thing in reverse when she’s happy about something—if her world is just right, and she’s thrilled that everything went well, she trumpets the good news (which usually consists of little more than a pleasant meeting with her club, or a meal out) as if everyone should celebrate for her.
It isn’t my place, nor would it be right, to rain on her parade when she’s happy…but I can’t help feeling a sense of unrestrained glee when her day is clouded by life’s little inconveniences. Call me mean-spirited—but at least I keep those sentiments to myself...most of the time.
