Cousin Tina and I walked into an older relative’s birthday party and couldn’t help noticing the ratio of one yaya to one elder at the main table.

“I haven’t seen so many yayas at a party since our children’s party days,” Tina said. Those were labor-intensive parties, but relatively easy on the budget—we never went overboard. There were loot bags, games and prizes and, apart from the de rigueur ice cream and cake, a children’s menu: mini hotdogs and burgers, pork barbecue and spaghetti; and yet another menu for the adult guests: pork barbecue, lasagna, potato salad, garlic bread, mostly with the husbands in mind, who would come later, after work or golf, to pick up their families.

For practical reasons we served a simpler menu for the yayas and drivers: pork barbecue, pancit and rice. Everything was cooked and prepared at home.

In no time, it will be us appearing at parties with our own white-clad yayas. It wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t sit with us at table, otherwise the guest count would double—for tables and chairs and food. We solved that problem at our children’s parties by having a separate menu or buffet. If, however, the guest required a nurse, the nurse, as protocol demands, would go to the regular buffet. Of course, the ideal is for caregivers to have eaten before coming to the party.

Group dates

In any case, seniors, whether using canes, accompanied by caregivers, or in wheelchairs, are still very much a part of social scene. At our yearly Winner Foundation auction in late November, one of our regular guests was, at first, reluctant to come with a cane; she had suffered a recent fall. But the moment she walked in, she felt at ease; a whole row of cane-aided guests—one was even in a wheelchair—sat while waiters passed around canapés and wine.

Many seniors still go out on regular group dates, and even take local and foreign trips together. One of my aqua-aerobics classmates, Celia, told me she and her husband, Rene, went with their regular golfmates to “An Evening with Pilita” at Solaire. Fans forever of Pilita Corrales, they were naturally excited to see and hear her sing her old hits again, especially her Spanish songs, and recollect their younger days as barkada.

Apparently, many other seniors came to watch. When some in Celia’s group asked for wheelchairs—it was quite a long walk from the drop-off point to the theater—they were surprised to be told, as was perhaps the hotel, too, that it had run out of wheelchairs! Reminds me of the time an old favorite of Vergel’s, Tony Bennet, came. It was nice to see just about everybody more or less our age there.

My husband and I can still get ourselves off our living room couch in front of the TV to watch concerts, ballet and theater, but only when something really appeals to our sentimental hearts. It must also beat the competition on TV: crime and detective, and courtroom dramas, BBC documentaries and other specials.

How long can we keep it up? Who knows?

Whenever I see an extreme case in a wheelchair at a restaurant or mall, I wonder whether he or she would have preferred to stay home, away from pitiful stares. If we’re lucky, our friends will be there in the same boat with us. No one envies the lone survivor of an old gang who is heard to lament, “All my friends are either dead or deaf!”

There might even come a time we won’t recognize each other. I can almost hear the other ultra-senior in the wheelchair across me, “No, it can’t be her! Could that be Chit? Impossible! She used to be so cute!”

And me saying to myself, “If I look like that I’d better stay home.” But, wait a minute, I’m looking at my own image in the mirror!

At BFF Bea’s small lunch the other day, we counted the years we’ve been friends over rich Spanish food, sangria and lots of laughter at Casino Español. We reminisced as far back as we could and laughed at our silliness then and now, and couldn’t decide which was funnier!

As always, we were planning yet a trip together—Madrid, Barcelona, Paris. As reality checked in, Sylvia suggested a short stay in her newly renovated house in Bacolod, early next year. Then Ninit mentioned a more pressing trip to Divisoria for Christmas gifts to the young and old of the Hospicio.

With nothing firmly settled, we all headed for the restroom before our final beso-besos. It was then that we realized that, at our age, the first and last trip before any other was to the restroom.

Still, getting old is not too bad, really, as long as it happens in good company.