My Colors are Changing. I Think.

There are a handful of things that have made me feel less than youthful in the past 24 hours. First, I found the cordless phone in my purse yesterday morning, where I had apparently placed it when I went to bed the night before. I’d like to blame that little mishap on stress, but frankly I just had a brain fart. All of my FaceBook friends over the age of fifty recognized themselves in that incident, so I’m assuming it was an age thing. And truth be told it’s not the first time I’ve done something like that. Just for the record, aiming the cell phone at the TV and punching the talk button will not change the channels on the TV. Also, pointing the cell phone at the car door will not open the door, unless you have the appropriate phone ap. AND pointing the cell phone at the garage door does not shut said door. Or so I’ve heard.


I read yesterday that Stevie Nicks, who has a new album out (did I just say “album”?) is 63 years old. 63!? How is that possible? Just goes to show what hair color can do for you.

Then I heard on the radio that they are remaking the movie Footloose, the movie of my freshman year in college. The movie with the soundtrack that kept me dancing for hours at fraternity parties. The movie that caused my friend B. to bust a stereo speaker. Or was that Purple Rain?

I’ve always heard that if a fashion trend comes around a second time in your life, you are too old to wear that trend. I think the same can apply to movies. I can’t do Footloose a second time. I might throw out my back.

And THEN, on my way to a work related event this morning I heard Culture Club on the radio and for some reason that really had me rolling down memory lane. Perhaps, because the event I was headed to was at the college I attended, and I sure did loves me some Boy George when I was in college. I sang Karma Chameleon down the parkway and had lots of happy thoughts about those years. Until I counted up exactly how long ago that had been. I had to count twice to make sure I had the right number.

After the event, I tortured myself by driving around campus to see how much things had changed. Half of the campus seemed new, the highway through town is twice as wide as it used to be and the Delta Sig house is just a memory. Ouch. Getting older was supposed to happen to OTHER people.

Further proof that it’s happening to me is right here.

I came across this picture last week. It’s from my senior year in college, the day before graduation. It was taken at the honors ceremony for the journalism department, and my parents, Handy Man (look how cute he is in his little deck shoes) and my grandma were there. It reminds me of how life renews itself. I was so proud my grandma got to see me graduate from college. It was a big deal to her, and she died a couple of years after that. My mother looks so young in that picture, and yet, she seemed so much older to me at the time. And I am now exactly in the same spot she was then. Teen Angel will likely transfer to that same college in another year, and I will be approximately the same age as my mother in this picture. How is that possible? I think of myself as so much younger at this age than I thought she was then. I’m sure Teen Angel thinks the same way. Next thing you know, she’ll be buying me a Jitterbug phone so I can keep track of it.  And a mu mu like Boy George's.