On his 1981 record, “The Pressure Is On” Hank Williams Junior sang, “All my rowdy friends have settled down.” This past week I came to the conclusion that Williams must not be friends with any Packer fans because there was nothing settled down about my jaunt to Lambeau Field to watch the Packers take on the Detroit Lions.
As I mentioned a few weeks ago, last week was my first trip to Title Town. The excitement in the air was like nothing I had ever experienced before and it was enough to keep my eyes open and blood pumping well past my bedtime. The late night was unusual for me. It has become apparent that maybe I am the rowdy friend Williams was crooning about.
That Monday night game was a real treat considering these days my back goes out more than I do. These aches and pains have really crept up on me. I never thought I would see the day when I became less worried about the space available on my shoe rack and become more concerned about if there is enough room in the medicine cabinet for the jumbo bottle of Ibuprofen.
There have been other signs that I am turning into a fossil. I remember when I was younger my Grandfather always referred to a young lady as “The Johnson girl” or “The Robinson girl.” I always found that to be amusing. Recently when someone asked me who had been crowned Miss Congeniality during Fall Festival. I responded, “The Williamson girl.” In that moment I realized I was turning into my dear ol’ Granddad. Please forgive me Ella. I know who you are. I think you are a bright and talented neighbor with a beautiful name. I hope you will cut me a break because lets face it…I am getting old.
I find my most gut wrenching decision of each day is not what lip-gloss matches my shirt best, but what to have for dinner. By 9 a.m. I am contemplating what to feed the family that evening. By Noon, I might be scrolling the internet for recipes. By 3 p.m. I am wondering if I have Cumin at home for said recipes (I probably have four in the spice drawer). By 5 p.m. I am walking into Dick’s Market for frozen pizza and by 5:15 p.m. the obviously blind cashier is asking if I qualify for the “Senior Discount.” What the heck, if she offers I guess it’s only right for me to take it.
Another sign that I may no longer be a spring chicken…I have decided to start sending money to PBS. I recently watched an amazing series on Country music while tuning into the Public Television station. Never once did they solicit for funds during the programming. I do know though, if I wish to keep informed on facts pertaining to the music of Peter, Paul and Mary or South Dakota’s Catfish Bay, then I better cough up some cash.
Speaking of PBS music shows, you might wonder what types of tunes really speak to my soul these days? Funk, Heavy Metal, Country-Western full of twang? Actually it is “Elevator Music.” The only thing more soothing than a little Captain and Tennille quietly playing in the background is a handful of Tums.
I am reminded numerous times daily that I am not as young as I used to be (which is good because I forget things easily). Although I am a few years older than by better half, I have figured out that he too is quickly turning into an old coot. My hubby no longer turns down the lights as a sign that romance is in the air; instead it is to save money on the electric bill.
The thing is I may feel ancient and tired, but these are honestly the best years of my life. There is absolutely nothing more rewarding than watching my children grow. It is just a little more enjoyable since my hearing is getting worse and I cannot hear them when they are fighting with each other.
I enjoy sharing my thoughts with you and look forward to readers sharing their thoughts in return.
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