“Ouch, ooh, darn!” My soft groans turn into full-throated complaints as I slowly get out of bed, put on my robe, and attempt to straighten my torso into an upright position.
Everything seems to hurt - knees, hips, lower back, shoulders - you name it. I pour my first cup of coffee and carefully lower myself onto my office love seat to enjoy the early quiet. “Oooof! I’m starting to feel like a real “Stada Baba,” I say quietly to myself.
What the heck is a “Stada Baba” you ask? Good question. “Literally, the term means “old lady” in Slovak and Polish. And, while accurately translated, being called a “Stada Baba” is not always a term of endearment. Too often it refers to someone who is not really elderly but is certainly acting like it. Comments such as “Don’t be such a Stada Baba!” or, worse, “You’re turning into a Stada Baba” prevailed in my household growing up.
Back to my stiff joints and sore hips. After breakfast, I skip the urge to purchase a new mattress or order one of those weird looking pillows that are put between your legs while you sleep to alleviate hip and back pain. Instead, I opt for a more immediate fix and find a “Gentle Stretch for Beginners” video on YouTube. Ignoring the “Recommended for Seniors” subtitle, I move carefully and gingerly along with the oh, so young instructor (no one should look that good wearing Lululemon), and begin to feel better. Sure enough, twenty minutes later, I’m loosened up enough to meet the day. Maybe that’s all that was wrong - I’m just a little stiff from all the packing, cleaning, and lugging of storage boxes last week. Yup, that must be it.
Around mid-morning, I begin to hear a familiar (and unwelcome) voice in my head. I try to ignore it, but it only gets louder as the day wears on. With growing horror I realize, she’s back. Yes, my dearly departed mother. You remember - the lady that made a thousand different kinds of Christmas cookies, who returned to haunt and help me through my own pre-Christmas cookie crisis before the holidays.
But this time, her message is not dusted with sugar and spice. This time, I am in a verbal nightmare as I hear her in my head, repeating over and over:
“You know you’re a “Stada Baba.”
“What? What did you say?” I respond.
Her voice gets louder: “You heard me! You’re a ‘Stada Baba’ now.”
“The accusation was being directed at me by a ghost, and it rang true. By calling me a “Stada Baba,” my mother’s voice was taunting me with the fact that I long ago lost my spring chicken status. Ouch!
Why would I let the specter of my mother throwing insults put me in a tizzy? Maybe I’m going crazy or perhaps it’s because my birthday is coming up this week and I am fighting the sense that I am getting old. While I am healthy and consider myself to be a “young senior,” deep down I still think I’m 21 years old with my whole life ahead of me.
Birthdays and age have never really bothered me; for me it’s always been about attitude. Like the adage “you are what you eat,” I believe “you are what you think.” Think negatively and you’ll come to expect the worst. Think positively and the world is your oyster.
Here I am, another year wiser, with so many things I want to accomplish and, lord knows, so much I still have to say. “Mom, you grew old and proclaimed yourself a Stada Baba. That’s not for me! In my head and heart, I remain a “mladá ženaam” (young woman). And my proclamation is to continue taking on new things on my bucket list!”
Later in the day, I find a birthday card from my best friend in the mailbox. On the front is a picture of Grandma Moses. Inside is a quote from this remarkable lady who started her famous art career in her 80s: “Life is what we make it, always has been, always will be.” Just the sentiment I needed. And it looks like my friend doesn’t see me as a Stada Baba either – there was a Lululemon gift card enclosed.
No Stada Baba here!