I don't often think about my age or "act my age" (because I have no idea what that is supposed to mean) or feel my age (again, whatever that is supposed to feel like). Truly, there have only been two times I've felt ... well ... older than I used to be.
The first was sometime in the mid 90s. We live part of the year on North Carolina's Outer Banks. One day, Bob, the developer who built our home, brought some people by who were interested in the house next door. He introduced us to a mother and her two 20-something kids, her son and daughter. We chatted for a bit and told them how much we liked the area and the community. They left but Bob returned shortly thereafter, alone.
"Well," he said, sporting a gigantic mischievous smile, "How'd you like my surprise? I knew you'd get a kick out of it."
The puzzled expression on my face telegraphed I had not gotten the kick.
"Debby," he said exasperatedly, "the guy was Dave Grohl." My blank face elicited more explanation. "The drummer from Nirvana."
To which I replied (and to this day I still cringe when I recall it), "What's Nirvana?"
Bob answered, and he might have rolled his eyes too, "They're bigger than the Beatles."
I thought, "Oh crap, it's as if Bob brought George Harrison over and I was too old to know who the Beatles were." By the way, Grohl did buy the house. He was a pleasure when we met him again by which time I finally heard about Nirvana (and loved the music, I might add). He was quite nice, sweet with my then adolescent daughters, giving them autographs that read, "From your friend at the beach," and since I knew his work, I was duly impressed.
Fast forward about 20 years to my recent road trip to Syracuse to eat waffles for four consecutive meals, aka, the second time I felt a twinge of the "olds." (Side note: please don't think I'm using "old" as a negative. I'm not saying old is bad. It's just the most expedient way to express that time is passing quickly and I'm feeling the issues of aging.) We were psyched about this trip with four friends, all about my age. We loaded up the car, a vehicle we had to rent because no one had a car that could seat six. So, that's the first thing I noticed. In earlier years we'd have just squeezed four of us into the back with no thought for our lack of sufficient seat belts, or we'd have had bench seats that sat three and three but we most certainly wouldn't rent a vehicle just to be comfortable and safe!
Once we were settled in -- my husband and I being the only ones willing to sit in the "way back" because everyone else was afraid they'd be nauseous -- we ran a check list to make sure we had the necessities.
Water Bottles? Check. Stainless steel or glass only.
Medications? Check. For every person in the car.
Car Snacks? Check. God forbid we spend money at road stops to buy snacks.
Medical (I use the term loosely) Marijuana? Check, with vape pens so we don't inhale smoke.
Wine and Vodka? Check and oh hell yes.
Prunes? Alas, yes.
E-Z Pass? Of course. You think we have patience to sit in traffic at the tolls?
Handicapped hang tag? Sigh. Yes.
Geezers on Wheels. Woo Hoo, hit the gas!
We had a blast. Time marches on ... but it's okay.
If you would like to read more about my philosophy on aging and other things I delude myself about, please visit me on Grand Magazine.
Earlier on Huff/Post50:
