Sometimes I Forget

Sometimes I forget
That I’m not the one
Others speak of
When they talk about “those kids.”

Advertisement

Is Thirty-Seven the Magic Number?

At my wedding reception in the (ahem) 80s, I remember telling someone, “When we are on our fifteen-year anniversary it’ll be the year 2000!” Since it was my wedding day, and we were only married for a couple of hours, fifteen years seemed like an eternity. And we’d be old!

The turn of the century seemed like science fiction to me. A time and space that was beyond my capacity to comprehend. My future seemed bright, but also scary. Would our marriage make it? Would we have children? Would we both even live to the year 2000 and beyond to grow old together?

Here we are, June 1st, 2022 and both of us completely forgot our anniversary until it was upon us. Is thirty-seven years the magic number when it’s no longer a big deal?

Let’s Party or Let’s Sleep?

When I was twenty years old, I used to go to bars to see rock bands that started playing at 12:30am.

Thirty plus years later now, I can’t imagine doing that again. But, when my husband and I learned one of our favorite bands was coming to a bar in town, I started imagining. Could I? Should I?

Maybe since the band members were older, just like us, they’d start earlier than they used to, like around 8:00 or 8:30pm.

When we checked into buying tickets, we learned their start time was at 10:30pm. Not as bad as 12:30am, but late for us . . . ahem, mature people. The bar was a 50-minute drive into the city. Was it really that important? Wouldn’t I rather be curled up on a warm sofa watching all the weekday shows I DVR’d for the weekend? Or, have a Netflix marathon? This way, when it got late, I could fall asleep and then easily shuffle into the bedroom for the night.

My husband and I really love this band. I think he even likes them slightly more than I do. We’d seen them twice when we lived in Florida. So, would we really be missing out on anything since we’d seen them before?

The guy who pulled me on stage. See date for clothing style.

I had flashbacks of when I used to rock all night long and get home when the sun came up. Once, the lead singer (of a different band), pulled me on stage to dance just like Courtney Cox with Bruce Springsteen. Except, my lead singer was better looking than Bruce.

Those days are over. I still go to rock concerts at stadiums, which start earlier, but a bar? Late at night? Umm . . . I’m mature now. I don’t need to rock out at a bar to prove I’m still young.

This band my husband and I like is a talented bunch of musicians who write very optimistic songs. I love how uplifted and inspired I feel from their music. I even posted once about how they cheer me up. Did I really want to miss out on that music live in concert?

Six weeks ago when we learned they were coming, we discussed buying tickets but never did.

On Saturday when the date arrived, there were still tickets available. Should we go?

Yep, we went at the last minute. At first when we walked in before they started, I felt out of place, like I didn’t belong. Boy, have times changed for me.

However, once the band started, I fell right back into old patterns. And, guess what?

The lead singer (the guy pointing) came down off the stage and talked to me! Then everyone else got in the way with their selfies and I wasn’t able to get one.

We got home at 1:00am, and I was wound up. Couldn’t even sleep. I only had two drinks. Maybe one more would’ve helped.

Have you ever talked yourself into doing something that you thought you wouldn’t enjoy but then had a great time?

P.S. First band: Fayrewether from Cleveland. Second band: Sister Hazel from Tampa.

Petty Peeves

I have some random, unrelated thoughts rambling about in my head. They are basically pet peeves. Perhaps I have some form of OCD?

Affirming Friday

Can you Keep a Secret?

It happened when I was all by myself.

Well, I wasn’t completely alone. My dog, Max was with me. He’s the only one who knows the truth about his crazy fifty-something-year-old biped mom.

Dwindling

This could be someone’s grandma’s house.

I’ve always enjoyed spending time with older people. I mean, even when I was a teenager, I looked forward to spending time with my grandparents.

Grow Old With You

When couples get married, they presume it’s for life, and that they will grow old together. If you pay attention to statistics, fifty percent of them won’t make it that far.

Most couples don’t realize when they’re young, what growing old together really means, because aging is not for sissies.

I know of a couple who have been married for over sixty years. They show everyone the true meaning of growing old together, being the strength for one another in every moment of every day. Their love for one another never ceases.

A Cure for the Blues

I tend to get depressed on my birthday every year. It’s not so much because I’m aging, although that is a small part. I have my reasons, and they’re a bit personal to write on my blog. But, keep reading and you’ll see how I cured the birthday blues.

Acceptance

Anything in life that we don’t accept will simply make trouble for us until we make peace with it. ~ Allen Reid McGinnis

Age

There is only one thing wrong with the younger generation – a lot of us don’t belong to it anymore. ~ Bernard Baruch

Rebellious No More

Back in the day (you know, in the early 80’s), my high school/college friends and I thought we were youthful rebels with our rock music.

I’ve always been someone who couldn’t pretend that I liked something if I didn’t, and I didn’t just like rock music, I loved it. I used to say, “I don’t care how old I get, I’ll always be a rocker.” All the while thinking that rock was only for young people, and I planned to be rocking with a wrinkly ass at age eighty-five.

Wistful Wednesday Wisdom

(For use of photo, please attribute to Lori and this blog.)

This is a wistful, melancholy day indeed … for me anyway. I don’t want to face this birthday. I want to pull the covers over my head and fast forward to tomorrow. No wait, rewind would be better, because I’d be young again. Sigh.

Birthdays

When the lady asked him is age
he held up three fingers.
When he grew a little older
and started school,
he spoke in halves.
I’m six and a half.
I’m seven and a half.
I’m eight and a half.