ITS A CARD CATALOG

Last week I had the opportunity to travel to a convention with my new boss. My new boss, the editor at the paper where I work, is much younger.....MUCH younger. Like half my age younger. Never before have I felt so old but so young at the same time as when I hang out with him. 

He's a lot of fun to work with, talk to and hang out with. Generally he makes me feel young because his mindset about everything is so much more laid back than mine, and I feel he is a good influence on me that way.

While we were in Lexington, Ky for the convention, we braved the single digit temperatures to go to dinner together. He was meeting friends after dinner, and was kind enough to take the “old lady” out to a nice restaurant.

We had a great dinner with great conversations, the restaurant he picked was very modern and chic and the food was delicious. When our checks came to the table, they were on small pieces of wood, held down by a band stretched across the wooden plank. 

I commented on them, I like unusual touches, and he agreed. “It's the little things,” he said. 

I told him about a restaurant in Atlanta, the West Egg Cafe, where my husband and I had eaten this summer. How the décor was library and literary oriented, with old books and library tables and other cool touches. This “exchange” followed. 

Me: When they brought the check, it came in a card catalog drawer. It was really cool. 

*blank stare*

Me: You know what I mean? A card catalog. Like in libraries?

*blank stare*

Me: Before the internet, every book in the library had its information written on an index card. 

*blank stare* 

(I'm pretty sure I lost him at "before the internet." after all, he was born in 1991 I have mouse pads older than him)

Me: They were in a drawer in this card catalog. You pulled out the drawer and went through them until you found the one you wanted? *gesturing with my hands how you'd file through them*

Him: Oh, yeah. Ok. 

I'm pretty sure he said it just to make me feel better. Or to get me to shut up. 

I've never felt so old as I do right now....honestly.....

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...

Be Daring

I stepped into the classroom with butterflies in my stomach, intimidated to my core at being in an art studio full of 20-somethings, and saw the easels looming tall in the darkness. I can still vividly recall the cold January day in 2007 when i first set foot on the campus of HACC. I had to fight the urge to turn around and walk away back to the safety of the life I was living. I was returning to school 20 years after my first college experience. After 10 years of “saying” I wanted to go back to school to study design, and proceeding to do nothing about it, I was finally here. 

So what got me here, after all those years, at the age of 39? Was it a midlife crisis, Oprah inspiring me  to live my best life, or a sudden burst of resolution? No, it was on a dare. All the encouragement from my husband over 12 years, all the comments from friends that I should be a designer, that I should be in the arts, that my current occupation was a waste of my talents. Of all these inspirational words from people in my life, what encouraged me was a DARE FROM A CO-WORKER? Seth, by the way, had absolutely no idea that he was changing my life. As it turns out, I myself had no idea how much my life would change, either.

Another student in the graphic design program asked me during our final semester “if you knew how hard this would be, would you have done it?” I was very tired and strung out, behind on all of my work, struggling desperately to up and to keep my grades intact in what would be my final semester. “No” I snapped back. “No Way”! And it was hard. And trying. And humbling. Most of all humbling. Being a 40-something struggling to keep up with younger students is difficult, but for a 40-something business woman who has worked since the age of 21 and spent the past 5 years working for herself? Being graded, scolded, critiqued, and judged can leave you feeling like a contestant on Survivor. Outwitted, outplayed and outlasted. Again.

So I still think if I had known how hard it was I wouldn't have done it, but isn't that true for most of us? Few people really want to dedicate themselves heart and soul to anything. Few people really want to give up their weekends for homework or studying when it is beautiful weather outside. Few people really want to spend all their free time on projects and say no to social events. But when we have to, we do it. Isn't not knowing sometimes on our side? If we don't know that something is difficult, we can dive in to it with no preconceived notion of not being able to accomplish it. That is how some of the best thinkers of our time got where they are today. Bill Gates, Oprah, Steve Jobs. They just plugged away, one step at a time. I would bet if they truly had known the enormity of what they would achieve in their lives, even they would have thought twice before continuing. 

However, in the end when I wonder why I ever took that dare from my co-worker I remember something that was sent to me by my close friend Adam many years ago. It was during an extremely trying time in my life while hubs and I were coping in the immediate aftermath of his terrible accident. His entire email consisted of a quote from Helen Keller saying “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” Underneath Adam added “be daring”. He probably doesn't know what it meant to me at that point in my life to have someone saying something other than, “you'll make it” or “it's god's plan” or “we're praying for you”. (All platitudes for which I appreciate the sentiment, but mean nothing to me as an agnostic) Adam gave me hope, gave me advice for living, and furthermore in two words adjusted my attitude. I read “be daring” as in “live your life to the fullest, don't let this slow you down, you can still do what you want and stop feeling sorry for yourself” all rolled into one. 

I have tried my best to live my life this way ever since that day. So that is why I took the dare. It seemed like the right thing to do.

Why a 35 year old is NOT a 42 year old

I just want to talk about being 40-something as compared to, I don't know, 30-something. I am increasingly saying whatever the heck I want, anytime, anywhere. I just had someone say to me recently that their 35 year old wife "is basically the same" as a 40 year old wife, and I wholeheartedly disagree. Maybe I just have a jump start on 60 or maybe it is just a leftover from my 2 year battle with depression, I don't know. Whatever the case, I am just just really convinced that I am going to end up being "that" little old lady. You know the one.

This thought first occurred to me when I was still living in Pennsylvania. I was out working in the yard one afternoon, pulling weeds and such, and had just thrown on a pair of shoes with what I had been wearing to school that day. (Yes school, I went back to school at 38, I so rocked it) So, my outfit consisted of the following: A gray t-shirt that said "Rock-n-Roll Royalty" a black windbreaker (which said H.A.R.D on the back hee hee), a knee length denim skirt and OH, yes the boots I pulled on as I walked out of the garage. A pair of green and pink plaid Wellies (rain boots for my southern friends) that came almost up to my knees. I threw on an old hat, sort of a black version of Gilligan's, to keep my hair from blowing around.  When I came in I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and thought "Good Lord! How many of my neighbors drove by and saw me this way?!"  I immediately knew that in the grand scheme of things, once I got into the nursing home, (or most likely before) I would be exactly like the Ouiser character from Steel Magnolias. It isn't a goal, just something I suspect will happen whether I want it to or not.

For example, several weeks ago we attended the SoKy Book Festival. I had a really good time and the last thing we did was chat with 2 hilarious female writers (holla! Stephanie and Lauretta!) so I was in a really good mood. We stopped at a nearby Japanese restaurant for sushi and when I ordered a glass of wine the waiter asked me to see my ID. Now, let me preface this by saying that this is a college town and I know they most likely ID almost everyone without an AARP card. I never for one minute thought that he thought I was anywhere close to 21, but the request still made me smile. As I reached for my wallet, the waiter burst out laughing "OH, NO, I am just kidding...hahahaha....I don't need to see it." Wha-ah? Really?! My husband and I just laughed but as he walked away I looked at hubby, laughed and said, "It is a good thing I had a really good day today. That was kind of rude! On a normal day, I would have gone....OFF...on him." We laughed and made the usual "good thing I am on my meds" comments.

But it made me think how, when I had my wisdom teeth out recently, I asked the doctor why I was still in so much pain (turned out to be dry socket). He was obviously tired of dealing with me and my questions and said "You are in pain because I just pulled 4 TEETH OUT OF YOUR JAW!!" and I literally said, "NO SHIT, Sherlock, I mean...why am I STILL in pain." Now, let me just say that I never would have said that to a doctor in my 30's and though I am sure the pain had something to do with it, I still can't believe I came out with that so quickly.

Then, not a month after that incident I stopped in at a small town paint/wallpaper/flooring store that sells Benjamin Moore paint, my personal favorite. The guy behind the counter was friendly enough and asked how he could help. I said we were thinking of installing cork floors in our kitchen. Now, we've run into a lot of resistance in SoKy with the cork flooring. They are a bit behind the national trending toward "green" alternatives, so I have to admit I may have been a bit defensive. So, he said "Never sold any. I mean, I have samples and I can order it but I have NEVER sold it to anyone." So, I went toward the back to look at paint chips. When he came back there to ask if I was doing OK I said "Well, I am looking for a gray, that is kind of beige, but grey at the same time. You know? The kind everyone is painting with now?" Him: "Well, good luck with that." Me (thinking WTF????!!!!!!!! and with my best southern drawl) "Well, you're just ALL KINDS of help today, aren't you???" He sort of looked at me and I laughed to take the pressure off, but it's out there. I said it. Without even thinking twice.

So, I say to you, this is the #1 reason that a 35 year old is not a 42 year old. REALLY not. You just come out with things, that filter, either disappears or makes you not care anymore. Like on Tuesday when I was standing in line at Wendy's and some woman who is obviously too lazy or too good to wait in line like the rest of us said "Do they only have ONE cashier taking orders? That's what I thought." She turned to leave but I said "Yeah, well, there's only ONE cash register to take orders on so...." It just popped out. I swear.....it's gonna get me in trouble some day! My life...honestly!

(Oh, as for the other differences in 35 and 40-somethings, you'll have to ask my husband about those!)