Too Old for the Zoo

When I say I’m too old for the zoo, I’m not talking about seeing exotic creatures like giraffes and rhinos. I still get a thrill when I view one of Mother Nature’s more unusual offspring. No, I’m speaking of physical endurance.

This past June I hosted three of my grandchildren (and the boyfriend of the eldest) for two weeks. When I told friends this was happening, several of them expressed concerns. How would I feed them? Entertain them? Did I have the energy?

“No problem,” I responded.

Hell, four years ago I hosted my son, daughter-in-law, her parents and the three children and that even included a trip to the zoo. But there’s a difference between June and December, weather wise, and a big difference between 74 and 79 age wise.

We chose June 14^th. It was nine days into the visit, and I was already “worn to a frazzle” as my mother would have said, from all the meal preparation, laundry, and refereeing sisterly disputes. My digestive system was reacting with an upheaval of its own, so, as a precaution, I popped three Immodiums to prevent any mishaps at the zoo. This was a mistake.

I had hoped to arrive early, but the girls took a while with hair, makeup, and wardrobe decisions. We arrived at the Guadalajara Zoo at 11:00 a.m. on a hot day. The lineups for admission were relatively short and once inside, we toured the aquarium in relative comfort. However, upon leaving, we picnicked outside, as the sun reached its zenith, and then sprinted up a long hill to catch the 1:00 p.m. African safari. We were too late for that departure, so we had to stand in a long line for 20 minutes. Just as I reached the number one spot, I started to feel woozy.

“I think I’m going to faint,” I said…faintly…and then (according to eyewitness reports) sank slowly (but gracefully) to the floor. The next thing I knew I was being fanned vigorously by granddaughter Nikola, who was barking orders to all and sundry.

“Get her a chair. Get some water. Call the medics.”

Soon I was seated and a nice Mexican medic in a uniform took my blood pressure and nodded negatively. “Too low.”

Despite my protests, he wouldn’t let me board the safari vehicle. He made me drink a quart of electrolyte drink (provided by the zoo) and took my blood pressure again.

Finally, I got on the safari. I was feeling better, I confess, and enjoyed myself immensely. Next up…the gondola ride. If you haven’t been, it’s considered one of the highlights. Only two riders are allowed per seat.

Nikola wanted to go with Michael, the twins wanted to ride with one another, leaving me (who paid for all this I point out) standing alone. I had a choice. Wait 30 minutes for them to return or hop on board solo. Impulsively, I did just that.

Now I found myself alone in a swinging seat that reminded me of the Ferris wheels of my youth. Happily, it came with an iron bar across the waist, and another between one’s legs. As I pictured myself fainting again, I reasoned I couldn’t actually slide off that easily. I began to fantasize about the headlines “Canadian woman falls to her death in lion’s den at the Guadalajara Zoo. She was half consumed before zoo staff could get to the scene.”

As my toes brushed the treetops, I came as close to a panic attack as I ever wanted to.

“You will not faint,” I kept repeating, a mantra that calmed me down.

Ahead, Nikola turned and shouted: “Grandma, what are you doing? Are you okay?”

“No,” I shouted back, but I did manage a nervous laugh.

When we disembarked, I felt proud. Foolish, yes…but courageous, too.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. On the drive home, Nikola said:

“Grandma, I think you might be too old for the Guadalajara Zoo.”

And she’s right. I’m also too old for two-week visits with teenagers. As I waved farewell in Airport Security, I shouted: “Next time…just one week. Got it?”

All Grandpa Paul had to say was “what next time?”