Sometimes I Feel Old

Sometimes I feel old.  Like when I’m at the mall and I look at a little girl who I think is maybe, oh say, twelve… and then she starts talking about her college classes. Or when I feel like yelling at those “pesky kids” for parking in my permit parking spot (hey, I pay for the privilege to park there you, you… pesky kids). Or when I see someone walking down on the Avenue in a mini skirt and I think “even I wouldn’t have worn a skirt that short, goodness doesn’t that child have a mother?” Or when the most exciting part of my day is finding a second National Geographic special on crocodiles on Netflix.  (Hey, I'm obsessed with crocodiles and alligators right now, okay?)

Oh I could crawl under my house and live in shame with the spiders that such thoughts even cross my mind.

Next thing you know I’ll be standing on my front porch shaking my cane at kids on skateboards as they ride by yelling things in a croaking voice like “stay off my lawn of rocks” and “turn that awful music down” or “don’t pick my cactus flowers!” I think I am having an identity crisis.

You thought I was joking about the lawn of rocks.  I wasn't.  This is how we do "lawns" in Arizona.  In fact, this is part of my front yard. 

These are the sweet new leaves coming in on the tree in my front yard.  I thought it died over the winter, but apparently it was simply hibernating.  Amazing the small things that make me really, really happy.  

These are the "cactus flowers" in my front yard which I imagine I'm about to shamefully descend to yelling at the "kids" not to pick.  Yes, it isn't technically a cactus, I think it's a succulent, but close enough for me.  

Now, let me digress a bit. The Cottage is situated next to a sweet duplex. In this duplex lives a guitar playing college boy who actually plays quite well. About every two or so weeks he invites his friends over, they get roaring drunk, and at some point long after I have gone to bed… they start to sing. Yes. Sing. They aren’t half bad either… for highly drunken college guys bellowing songs they only know the chorus to at one in the morning.

Why am I telling you this? Because it happened again last week.  On Thursday. 

As I came out of my sleepy state around one in the morning what do you think I heard drifting over the fence from the duplex next door but a jaunty strata of male voices howling: Now I had the time of my life. No I never felt this way before. Yes, I swear, it’s the truth. And I owe it all to you. ‘Cause I’ve had the time of my life. And I’ve searched through every open door. ‘Til I found the truth. And I owe it all to yoooouuuu….

And suddenly instead of feeling old and crotchety, I laid there and smiled. The college boys next door were singing the theme song to one of my favorite old sappy romance movies, Dirty Dancing. And they weren’t doing half bad. In that moment I felt an extreme warmth towards them. I remembered all my loud nights on friends' porches doing similar things. I imagined how much fun they were having and sent them some good energy for the night. 

Sorry to disappoint those of you who were guessing and hoping that I jumped out of bed, threw on some sexy clothing, and went to join them. I'm not that cool anymore. Besides anything under 25 is practically cradle robbing! In fact, instead of jumping out of bed to join them, I very unsexily closed my open window and put in ear plugs when they descended into a gosh-darn-awful rendition of Sweet Caroline. Well really, I did need my beauty sleep.  But for a few moments I felt young. Very, very young.  Identity crisis delayed.  

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” (Wait, does loving this movie make me old?)

Oh, and for those of you wondering just how old I am... I'm thirty.  I know. Super young.  I have so much energy and joie de vivre.  I get hung up on silly things sometimes....

Till next time…