by Elke Zilla
The Spirit of the Older SHE
Shout out to the girls, that cling to the older pearls on the string.
Let’s get loud, let’s laugh, let’s dance, let’s sing in the key of Mercy, Mercy Me.
Is it not a gift to outlive the warranty attached to “this old thing?” Surprise!
This old thing is still in drive—guaranteed, in fact, with a will to survive every “over-the-hill”
fragile and frail stereotype that undermines the make, model, and design of a rich, resilient,
creative, and brilliant stage of life.
Claro que sí!
A legacy of memories, stories, scenes, hopes and dreams, the poetry of a heart that knows every
song that flows through the whole soundtrack of the soul: You Don’t Own Me
May our truth be told, through the art of being old.
Claro que sí!
Imagine the agony of this conversation in the midst of my birthday celebration. An exchange that
brought This old thing, the perfect inspiration to rock a second shot of lemon drop, make love to
her tonic and gin. And so, it begins…
“If I may, let me just say you look good for your age, Mrs. Z. Making your way to 70? Blessed
be! Such energy is refreshing to see. In spite of your years, time is on your side, my dear. For a
start, you’re young at heart.
I think it’s great you don’t act your age. Your clothes are in style;
okay, some would say ‘Oma’s Gone Wild.’ But you go to the gym, do yoga and swim, don’t feel
too old to do that Zumba thing. In fact, you rise, come alive any chance you can dance with that
younger guy, am I right? Dancing in the street, the park, the beach, every bar with a band—there
you are! Boom, boom, guess who’s in the room with the Texas Embassy Blues?”
Sigh, I say to this guy, now fricking mimicking my moves to Chain, Chain, Chain of Fools:
Dude, I’m glad I keep you amused!
But if you go on, it won’t be long till the thrill is gone for good. If I may, let me just say:
Shadappa your face! Springing those lines, clichés all over the place. Here’s the thing, My Ding-
a-ling: ageism discriminates.
The vibe of my tribe is to integrate and embrace this precious time
that remains with grit and grace. And we shall own this home, carry the weight, act our age in
various ways. Truth be known:
That we may thrive, come alive through the afternoon of life; a time of inescapable decline.
That we might rise, when the evening comes above the grief and loss of people we love. The
immensity of a thought—some friends… already gone. And so, we hold to this one and only
goal: to be present and available for what is now essential to our soul.
A privilege that unfolds with a magnitude of gratitude, kindness, care, compassion—qualities
that heal, if not reveal, the latest, greatest inner fashion.
Claro que sí, thank you for reminding me!
(To the audience) Blessed are we, especially in PV, to be a force of womanity that feels the music
and lyrics in tune with the spirit of the older SHE. The one that claims to be the uncensored me.
She’s Come Undone, to the rhythm of her own unique, God-given drum: a story, a song, a poem,
a glorious one-woman show or a dancing queen, a huevo chingón—
Take a Chance on Me.
I’m done, part one. It’s closing time, and my closing line is a slightly revised, word from the
wise—thank you, Maya Angelou:
Like the sun, the moon, the certainty of tidesLike a prayer of hope springing high, still, I rise, I rise, I rise.
Come what may, till my dying day, this old thing is Staying Alive.
Exit Music
