We call it "PLEASANTLY confused" (!)

This is a story about a wonderful lady who retired to a beautiful community.
She had been married twice and was recently widowed.
She had a jazzy little red sports car which made all the other women in the neighbourhood rather envious and her blonde hair was turning the most attractive shade of silver. She looked rather like a model always dressed smartly and conducted herself with great finesse.
She was a stylin' long before it was in style to be so.

The home was a rancher similar to most homes in the subdivision.
The drapes were a crushed velvet and the crystal in her China cabinet sparkled against its' rich walnut finish. She had lavishly entertained in her time and was well-equipped to do so.
She still had at least three closets of the most gorgeous clothes which increasingly she found no reason to wear. She was a proud gun owner and had to be told by the police not to walk outside rifle in hand. Just a little quirk left over from her childhood in the wilderness wilds. Those were the good days. We had progressed to the not so good days. She had sweatpants on most days.
She still had the beauty and the inner resolve intact.

I met her when I was on the evening shift. She was a hoot!
She had lost alot of her short term memory but she took alot of pleasure in retelling a choice few events from her life. She could remember the darnedest things like the name of the ship that had brought her here from her native Sweden at the age of 4 years.
No matter what she was remembering, her stories would inevitably contain a part where some silly man or woman would say to her:

"Greta, honey, I would tell you but you would not understand."

To which she would reply: "I'll have you know I not only ____ but I also ____."

And they would come back with: "What? YOU? A mere woman?"

Somebody in the long ago past had belittled her for her gender and by golly they were going to pay. We were discussing vacations and I remember telling her about a flight I had taken.
She interjected with a story about how she once had to fly a plane. ( uh huh )
And of course the co-pilot said:

"WHAT?? You? A mere woman? You would not know how to fly!"

"I'll have you know my father taught me how to fly and I was flying before you were born."

Then she landed the place safely to much acclaim.
I pressed for details on that one but we waved me off with an imperious hand.
I pretended to be amazed and impressed.
I don't THINK her father knew how to fly a plane. He was a fisherman, logger, builder and all round pioneer fella but you never know. It could have happened.

We call people like her pleasantly confused.

Her father HAD taught her to shoot a gun as cougars were not uncommon in her younger days. Her father also let her lend a hand building and designing things. She had been a Realtor by profession.

Mrs. P.C. has been declining lately and she knows it. Mostly it is the memory. Where she used to be happy to see people now she is suspicious of most and often threatens the girls with her fists or her walker. If you volunteer to assist her in the personal care department you might as well just leave and leave fast. I used to be fairly successful with her. Used to be.

"Hello! Good morning!"

"Is that your name? Hello?"

"How are your pets this morning?"

"None of your business get the hell out."
---- busy me doing this and that----
*sound of walker coming down hall*

"G**d**n it what the HELL are you making so much noise about?"

"Med time Mrs. Greta."

"Med time? I don't need you to tell me that. You think I am an idiot? You are the idiot. Get the hell out."

and so on, and so forth.

Tomorrow I have the pleasure of trying again. I wonder if it will be the fearless female I meet or the woman afraid of someone noticing she has forgotten exactly what she is doing.

God Bless You Greta. You fiesty old bird you.

"We are here to add what we can to, not to get what we can from, life."
-- Sir William Osler