Am I Spotting the Subtle Signs?

Wrinkles may not hurt, but getting older?…Ouch! 

 

I’ve detected some subtle symptoms creeping in.  I laugh at these sly little signs sneaking up on me, but I wonder how long before they overtake me and I will have to accept that I am actually inching my way to old age.

I’ve been lucky enough to inherit some good genes and I am hoping that I follow suit from my past generations.

Last summer I was at Comerica Park for a Tigers baseball game with my family.  There were 9 of us, including my posse of 5 young grandchildren. 

 

Sitting in the direct sun on that hot and humid day, we kept cool with a constant mist of cold water in a spray bottle I brought in from home and had sneaked into the stadium.

We were enjoying the game when the ball was hit into the stands. Loooong Goooone! 

 

The fans went wild and rose to their feet.  We cheered…loud!  A minute later, the crowd quieted and settled back down into their seats.

Without peeking behind me, I took my seat………the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the cement with my knees up at my chin. 

 

I was bewildered!  “What just happened?” I thought.  For a second, I thought no one had seen me. I felt as if I was in the twilight zone.

You know how close the row in front of you is in those stadiums?  

 

Must be only 24 inches or so!  

 

Well I was down there still wondering how I got there, and how was I going to get out of this 2 foot square box-like space. 

 

Then I heard a familiar voice of my daughter, “Are you OK?”

 

I must have forgotten that the seat pops up…and evidentially, STAYS up, when you get out of it.  LOL  OK, I can laugh at myself with the best of them! 

But sometimes getting older is a bit frustrating.

 

It’s not funny when you can’t read those small words printed on a medicine bottle, or when you have a hard time opening a jar in the kitchen.

But, I’m part of the Baby-Boomer Generation.  I am not going to accept this sentence sitting down.  I am going to gracefully fight every step of the way. 

 

Just remember: do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.

Two Score and Seven Years Ago

I recently had the pleasure of attending a reunion.  Not a college or high school reunion.  But a reunion of my Catholic grade school – the Our Lady of Grace 8^th Grade Class of 1964 from Dearborn Heights, Michigan.

LIFE happened in those narrow halls - those classrooms that sat 50 students each - and in the adjoining church.  It’s where we shared our lives, learned together, worshiped together and played together throughout our formative years.  Our classmates were our neighbors.  We knew one another’s parents and siblings.  We grew up together in a simpler time, and we were part of the Our Lady of Grace family.

Forty –seven years ago, 150 of us innocent 8^th grade students, left the confines and security of the Catholic school halls we had roamed lined-up in for the past 8 years.  For the first time, we were leaving behind our safe, secure friendships.  We were now parting – splitting - to attend one of a dozen or so high schools in the area.  Traveling our separate ways, but each carrying inside us that solid foundation which was to remain with us for the rest of our lives.

So it was with much enthusiasm that I looked forward to seeing old friends that I hadn’t seen in 47 years!  I must say, and I’ve been told -- to my benefit, and even to my detriment -- that I have a most accurate memory.  I knew just about everyone there…and there were close to 100 people who came out to celebrate our past that day.  What a testament to our happy childhoods!

While enjoying acquaintances, I kept my eyes peeled for a few of my very best friends.  Funny how 47 years can slip by so quickly. 

There she was!  In walked one of my favorite partners-in-crime.  You know, things like prank phone calls (Is your refrigerator running?), eating burgers and drinking phosphates at the drug store counter (each visit paid with a silver dollar “borrowed” from my friend’s much older brother’s coin collection…OMG). 

My friend and I tried our first (and my last) cigarette together.  We sang “Goin’ to the Chapel” in harmony thinking we sounded every bit as “cool” as the Crystals…and we DID!  And by the grace of God, our short bouts of pyromania on my friend’s kitchen table didn’t erupt into anything serious!

We looked for boys together – dreamily, from afar - at the nearby Detroit public pools, at the outdoor ice pond in the winter, and spent many many Sunday afternoons in the movie theater watching every Beach Party movie starring Annette and Frankie.   

Most importantly, we LAUGHED together.  We laughed in church…all the time (in our defense, we had to attend mass EVERYDAY), which invited trouble from the Principal, Sister Leticia.  Even 10 whacks with a ruler on the knuckles couldn't stifle the giggles. 

One time a teacher stopped teaching the class until my friend and I stopped laughing.  We tried to contain the laughter, but as our shoulders bobbed up and down uncontrollably , and the snorts of laughter seeped out, the whole class couldn’t help but join in the infectious, hysterical laughter.

My friend and I have reconnected now.  Lots of laughter again, too.  Phone calls that go on and on into the wee morning hours.  It’s almost as if no time had passed!   We’re still playing catch-up with these crazy lives of ours.  Talk of family, children, ex’s, and how our lives turned out, and how much more we still have to do.