So, what's old, really? You've all read this sort of thing many times, each one of you.
I got to thinking about it because as I told..I think it was Shanna in the blog family, that I have Def Leppard blasting, Toby Mac, you name it when I am cleaning house. I am cleaning or have just finished hence, my reflection about age. My music choices also include contemporary hip hop I'm afraid but I have as much classical music here that I listen to at different times as I have loud stuff. Already blogged about that. Is old being 38 and in the hospital to have the really bad gall bladder surgery where they split you in two, or asunder as we like to say around this house here...pulling your rib cage up to what seems like the top of your head from what the aftermath of that rib cage pulling feels like to the patient..and where they have to dig stones out of the Common Duct as well as remove the organ itself? In the hospital for 9 days? Is that why, at 38 years of age the little student nurses outside my room called me " the old lady with the gall bladder"??? If I could have I would have vaulted out of that bed and smacked their fresh pink faces! But..I was tied down to the morph*ne pump and three drains were installed and running into their appropriate receiving receptacles!
I remember all the jokes when I was just 11, 12 years of age and upward about our parents choices of music. My dad for example loved...dare I say it? Lawrence Welk. Man, I couldn't take it..still can't. But that is how (you knew I was going there, didn't you?) your kids feel when "Rock of Ages" by the self same Def Leppard is blasting out of OUR speakers. That's what the blogger was talking about last week..that her daughter is like.."MOM!!!". Yet we think it's the cat's hat!!! OK. All that to say our music choices date us terribly. You can zero in within 5 years of a person's age simply by what they listen to most often (by the way, "elevator music" is NOT us (me) here at my house!)
But age..I was speaking of age. I wrote here not too long ago what a betrayal it is to look into that mirror in the morning (any time, really!) and see that middle aged woman in there. That's not me. That was never me. When my eyes opened this morning and most other mornings including my horrible short-sleep shift worker times, I am seventeen years old, and that's tops. Seventeen, people! Not &@#% years old! No idea who THAT is. But whoever she is, she rocks! That I do. All the time.
Age however. What I was getting at to a large extent is the old saw we all know. Age is how you feel most often. Sure, I know the lines in your face and how hard it is to get up from the floor tell another story as to chronological age but your heart....your inner person...how old? Mine is 17. I just assume she's under the weather or a little slow this morning when I can't seem to get it together or up off the floor quickly and that she'll be along shortly. Usually, she is.
I will start singing and darned if she doesn't start singing with me! We will go out together, me and my invisible inner 17 year old, and we'll do something fun. Or better still, we will make someone smile with our friendship.
I'll get up, put down my book, or stop typing and me and my inner 17 year old belt out a song...dance. Go out, go to a store and window shop..talk the ear off a clerk and listen..really listen to her when she talks back.
I don't stop my expectations no matter my physical age. I always expect, I always feel anticipatory about what's around the next moment in time. I love to smile and I don't
sweat the small stuff quite as much as I used to. . Several hundred words here to say you are as old as you feel and act. You can be infirm and still be young at heart. I intend to stay young till I die. I hope to never stop anticipating, loving, learning and moreover, singing!
My son's just cringed, I know.