Vivaldi or the Po Po?

The older I get the more I think about the past. I think a lot about going back in time to a certain point or event in my life. Most people I know wish they could go back and change things, and I guess I have my share of things that could be changed, too. Although for the most part I know that my hard-headed self would probably do things exactly the same way the second time around, too. So why bother.

No, most of my wishful thinking at 40-something years of age is just that I wish I could go back and relive some of the best moments of my youth. Look like I looked in high school or college, and just feel young and invincible again. Just to feel that feeling like I am going to live forever, no worries about wrinkles or growing old or dying. No problem with insecurity or depression or caring what people thought. That excitement of the first date with someone, or the highs and lows of your first love. No fears that each day could be the last I see my parents. No regrets over paths not taken because all the paths lie before me. All the choices have yet to be made.

I spent Saturday morning with photographer-friend Amy, assisting her in taking senior pictures for what will be our class of 2011. What an inspiring, depressing, fun, and eye-opening time that was. Not having children of my own I miss out on being around kids that age. For the most part, they are surprisingly mature and impressively confident. The 60 or so who came into the studio Saturday morning were well behaved ( I think they were more sleepy but what-evs) and I very much enjoyed watching the camaraderie that existed between them, especially the boys. They were required to wear a tie, jacket and dress shirt and I was surprised to find that the majority of them didn't own jacket or tie, much less know how to tie one. Sad, just sad. Woe be unto our casual society. So my den-mother instinct kicked in and I color co-ordinated them, tied ties for them, fixed collars, and changed jackets until they all looked presentable. I wanted to fix hair on some of them, but restrained myself. Some of the hairstyles on these boys, I just don't get it, but then my generation started the mohawk, so ....

The shocking thing was that they actually listened to me and let me dress them up like so many barbie dolls. I don't want to admit this, but it was like I had some kind of authority over them. Like I was a mom or something. Yikes. Such power "real" adults with their own kids must wield. And I got called ma'am way too many times for my liking, although it is a testament to the parents teaching manners here in my town. Even more interesting, I saw at least 5 kids who looked eerily familiar and discovered that they were the children of people I had gone to school with. There were probably more than that who went unrecognized. How are we old enough to have 18-year-olds? I refuse to believe it. Heck, I guess we are old enough to have 25 year olds, but I am not telling.

When you don't have children you are sometimes afforded the luxury of not having to admit how old you really are. Actually, you can almost always avoid it, but the fact remains that time continues to go forward and when you get the smack down from reality it hurts. Extra bad. It makes you wonder where your life went. It makes you crave the optimism and excitement from your youth. It makes you want to relive your best and sometimes even worst times, just to keep from forgetting them. It makes you question the choices you've made and wonder "How did I end up here?" (no, not the childless choice, more life/career/the road not taken) Being faced with that much youth really makes you think about being older. I just wanted to tell them to be daring, always take chances, and never stop searching for what you really want. You all deserve the best out of life, don't stop until you get there.

And, as is normal in the paradox of my life, I enjoyed a completely different experience Saturday evening as we drove to a neighboring county and attended demolition derby and lawnmower derby. It was way more redneck than ours was, and that's saying a lot. At the beginning of the evening our other friend Amy Dee (aka Peaches, who lives in said county) assured us that she had gotten us seats near the "fight zone" and couldn't wait for one to break out so she could turn on her "Po-Po" app and watch the crowd scatter. I was mildly disappointed when no one was arrested but we were treated to a huge fight on the opposite set of bleachers. This experience was only heightened by the fact that Peaches knew people involved in the fight and we actually had front row seats as two of the participants (and their girlfriends of course) told her friends their side of the story, then fled hoping to evade police. How fun!

Please keep in mind that my choices for entertainment this evening were to either go to a local winery  to hear music and have a picnic on the grass or attend demolition derby. And I truly had a hard time choosing. My life...