Old

Well, I have nothing from my sewing room to share with you this time around.  So in lieu of a picture of some homemade creation, here is something completely different on which to feast your eyes:

Why not?

I have been sewing away on some things, but they're either not finished or are gifts for people (and I don't want to ruin the surprise).

My family came to visit us this weekend, and we played a board game called Name Five.  Basically, it gives you a category and you have 30 seconds to name five things in that category.  Simple enough but always fun.  The stars aligned and I was lucky enough to get the category "Good Things About Getting Older".   A category made for me--Score!  In way-less-than-thirty-seconds I rattled off my list of five items, at the top of which was "getting to wear elastic-waist pants".  No sweat.

I've been old for a very long time now.  In fifth grade, Mrs. Niehaus introduced us to music from different eras.  To take us back to the 1940s, she played "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" on a record player.  She told us to ask our grandparents if they remembered this song, and I did.  It was all downhill from there.  I bought my first Big Band cd when I was in the sixth grade, along with knock-off CK One perfume and a Calvin, ahem…Kermit, Klein sweatshirt:

When I was 19, I went to a Glenn Miller Orchestra concert with my grandma, great-grandma and great-aunt.  I was everyone's junior by a solid 45 years.  And it was incredibly hard for me to hold back the tears as they played Moonlight Serenade.  I was probably the only one there without silver hair, and when I went up to buy a concert t-shirt at the end, the merchandise man asked, "Are you sure?"  Unashamedly, it's still my favorite pajama shirt.

While sometimes I have a hard time making conversation with people my own age (introvert, right here!), sit me down with a senior citizen and we're old chums.  Conversation flows freely and I'm quick to throw in a "They sure don't make 'em like they used to" or "When I was a kid…".

I am well aware that old age is no picnic; but I can't help but look forward to certain things.  I will dye my permed hair bright red, wear hot pink lipstick on my lips and probably teeth, go out in public in polyester clothing that doesn't match.  I'll strut my stuff in orthopedic shoes, and if I must, have a cane with a horn on it so that young hooligans know to move it or lose it.  And I'm crossing my fingers to be in a senior citizen synchronized swimming group.

Take us out, Glenn…