Birthday serves as reminder that time waits for no one
by Pegi Webster
Johnson Lane Journal
After enduring a recent birthday, I’ve been attempting my usual trick of trying to hold on to time. I have to report, it mostly doesn’t work.
Oh, there are a few little things that can give one the illusion of time- perhaps slowed a bit if not actually captured. As I say, these tricks are just illusions, and I don’t recommend them for everyone.
Like keeping the same hairstyle for 30 years. I once read where you can guess the year a person graduated from high school by the way they wear their hair.
Oh yeah, there might be a few variations to try and disguise this fact, but those of us who received our diplomas in the late 70’s remember Farrah fondly, so don’t kid yourself.
Just ask a late baby boomer of the female persuasion the definition of “wings” or “feathers” and before they can catch themselves, it won’t have anything to do with birds, I’ll bet ya.
Another thing that almost works in feeding my illusion of holding on to yesterday is my CD collection.
Except for the fact that another aging baby boomer member of my household can never remember to call them “CD”s and not “tapes”, an old person slip of the brain that drives our teenage son wild beyond belief, my music collection is a constant source of pride for me.
Music is like a time machine. It can transport you back to any place in time with a first sweet note; you can instantly be just where you where when you first heard “that song”, and you can revisit that place every time you punch “replay.”
What a joy, except when I’m caught next to a loaded school bus, and I’m loudly doing what I loosely term singing along with The Carpenters or Led Zepplin. Tinted windows don’t help you if they’re not rolled up.
My girlfriend from Los Angeles called to tell me the Eagles are going to be in Tahoe this summer, and she plans to pay an obscene amount to see them. When my son heard this, his only comment was along the lines of hoping there was enough wheel chair access on stage for the band.
Next time he asks for money, I’ll remind him that I’m too arthritic to reach for my checkbook.
So I do what I have to to keep the illusion alive. Like all mediocre magic tricks performed by non-union magicians, some times it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
I was having a pretty good stretch of fooling myself until yesterday afternoon.
Another girlfriend called, this time to tell me she had just become a grandmother. At first, I tried to pretend we had a bad cell connection, but I recognized her voice, and against my better judgment let her keep talking.
It was true – this friend, the maid of honor at my wedding, who just had her own children last week or so, has become a grandmother. She is younger than me by 8 months. This can’t be happening.
There was disbelief in her voice and in my ears, but I heard something else too; I heard a little bit of something like joy. I think she was actually happy. Could this be? Could this getting older thing have some benefits, too?
A new baby grandson. I’ll have to think about this while I blow dry my hair.
— Pegi Webster writes the Johnson Lane Journal every other week. She can be reached at 267-3820 or e-mail email@example.com.