Growing older is funny.  (Yes, that birthday is still looming . . . or is that “threatening”?)

I have enough decades behind me to notice changes in the world.

I love all the new technology –  I haven’t met an electronic gadget that I didn’t like.   But some things in this world are weird.  I know what a dime store is –  you buy little sundries that don’t cost much.   But a Dollar store?  My first time I wasn’t sure how it worked.   Cheap things.   Okay.    But how much does this little thing cost?  How much does that little thing cost?    Where are the price tags?

Well.      Lesson learned.     I saved the receipt,  just so I remember my lesson:


That’s confusing.   Dollar means $1.00.

I think things have become unnecessarily complicated.  I went to my favorite Monday’s restaurant a few months ago and was pretty sure I’d be able to pick out and order what I wanted.     But then I looked at  the menu:



Really?    I’d  need a flow chart?

Maybe one does need a little help as one gets older.    Anyone know what that item on my grocery list is, the one starting with an M by the #4?


I stayed in that store quite a few minutes longer that day because I was being stubborn:  How can I not read my own writing?      Usually my handwriting is pretty good,  but,  well, I was writing  that list as I was driving to the store, and my horn is right in the middle of the steering wheel so you can’t press too hard  . . . .

I’ll be you have some”markers”  along the way as you’ve grown older:

I remember some funny things along the way.   The time Hubbie stopped the car in the middle of the road in the little city where he grew up.   We had traveled to his home town in the Far Far North where he knows practically everyone;   and he was driving – until he stopped suddenly, with a funny look on his face.  Finally he said,   “I didn’t know they could hire such  a  young person to be a policeman!” 

We finally decided we were now getting “older”  and the new policemen were becoming noticeably younger than we were.   Hubbie was 27 years old at the time!

And then I remember my second year of being a first grade teacher, and it was the first Parent-Teacher conference of the year:   Meet the Parents/Meet the Teacher.     All was going well,  all was normal, as expected,  until one mother sat down at my desk and let out a big sigh of relief.  She looked at me and said,  “Oh!  My daughter came home and said that her new teacher  is a teenager!”   That would be me.   I was 24 years old.  I guess she was relieved that I was an adult.

It’s all a matter of perspective.

I remember the first time I was called “Ma’am”  by a young(er)  cashier.   That was a strange feeling.   I could have been his . . .  his older sister, I guess.

I remember the time I made The Big Decision:  I would not be coloring my hair to hide any gray which might be appearing.    I thought it was a private decision that I would share with my teenagers.    “I just wanted you kids to know that I’m not going to be hiding my gray . . .”   

“Oh, Mom,  we already figured that out.”


I remember the hesitant looks and watchfulness I felt when I went into our sports equipment store to buy my K-2s –  a great pair of Rollerblades.    I know what they were thinking.   But —  an “old lady”  needs exercise too!     And now I need a new pair . . .   sigh-h-h-h-h.   

I remember the nice young man in the coffee shop who refused to sell me a triple espresso.  I fixed him.   I ordered a double,  sat down to my laptop for a while,  and then got up and ordered another double.      That’s more than a triple!

I might be growing older,  but I’m not losing my mind!





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