If You Ask Me - Betty White [2]
And no, you can’t use a dictionary or an encyclopedia—that’s a cheat.
I’m not a big pill-taker, and almost never have a headache. But I once read an article about Dr. Linus Pauling, who took vitamin C every day to stave off colds. I thought, If it’s good enough for Linus Pauling, it’s good enough for me—why not? I asked my doctor, and my doctor said that’s rubbish, vitamin C has nothing to do with the common cold. But I wasn’t taking any other vitamins, so I started taking vitamin C every morning. I haven’t had a cold in twenty years.
I attribute my generous supply of energy to DNA—my father was so filled with energy, my mom used to call him “Horace the Hummingbird.” She’d say, “Honey, could you light long enough to sit down?”
I’m grateful to have inherited that gene. But in the end, the energy is also very much due to enjoying what I am so lucky to do for a living. Show business. If all this sounds too “Little Mary Sunshine,” please put up with me while I celebrate it.
Human nature being what it is, I’m ashamed to say that even with all the good stuff, there are still days when the misgivings move in. Maybe when I’m overtired or overloaded—or oversomething. In spite of myself, I find it harder to roll with the punches. I get irritated inside and begin to feel that I’ll never catch up. When this happens, I try desperately to resist indulging those ungrateful moods, and I try to attack any one of the many things that need doing, but it just doesn’t work and I don’t accomplish a damned thing. It might take a little while to shake those doldrums.
It’s been widely reported that I prefer the company of animals to humans. As a matter of fact, Barbara Walters asked me that direct question in an interview at one point. With Barbara, you don’t hedge.
I said, “Yes, that’s true!” Now, here with you I want to be on the level: It is true.
Can you blame me? Animals don’t lie. Animals don’t criticize. If animals have moody days, they handle them better than humans do.
Next time I’m feeling overwhelmed, I think I’m going to start channeling my dog Ponti.
I moved to Chappaqua, New York, for a spell after marrying Allen Ludden.
ASSOCIATED PRESS/BOB WANDS
SENSES
Sooner or later, some of our senses lose a little of their efficiency. (What do I mean “some”?! What do I mean “a little”?!) Eyesight, for example.
It sneaks up on you.
Reading and needlepoint have been passions for me since I was a child, and as middle age approached, I tried not to notice the fact that my eyes were gradually changing—things weren’t quite as sharp. I’m not sure how long I could have gotten away with ignoring it if it weren’t for my husband, Allen Ludden.
Since we first met, my romantic fella had always had a delicious habit of leaving little love notes for me in unexpected places (I still have them all), so I wasn’t surprised one night when I turned the bed down to find a greeting card under my pillow. It said, “If you can’t see I love you ...” I opened the card to find “... SQUINT!” I laughed hard, but the next day I headed for the eye doctor.
Okay, so you get your glasses and everyone is extremely supportive. “Oh, those are very pretty.” “Those glasses look great on you!” Et cetera, et cetera.
Somehow it’s a different story when your hearing starts to go. People can even seem a little annoyed when you say “What?” too many times. They’ll repeat themselves, but frequently without making it one jot clearer or louder. You find you need to see faces. If someone turns away while still talking, you realize how much lip-reading you’d been doing without realizing it.
I can remember accusing my dad of selective hearing—hearing only what he wanted to hear. Shame on me. That was before I learned how isolated one can feel when she misses a key remark and loses track of the conversation but is loath to admit it.
My father never enjoyed parties and avoided them whenever possible. He always said he couldn’t hear anybody in a crowd. I always thought it was because he just didn’t like parties. But now I understand.