I’ve finally entered that stage of my life when I’m too young to benefit from most senior discounts but old enough to say, “What the hell, get outta my way!” Yep, except for a few reminder hot flashes from time to time I’m free as a bird from all those monthly mood swings and the latter shivers, shakes and flashes of the dreaded menopause. Some might describe it as a bittersweet moment when you recognize that your body is more rapidly heading toward decay but without some of the mania and physical discomforts of functioning reproductive organs. Instead, I am looking at it as my emancipation. I’m taking this second half a century head on so watch out!
It wasn’t that long ago when I first noticed that the offspring I spawned had finally dissed the familial coup for more hip, contemporary gathering places. I recognize that the simple use of such words as “hip” already explains why they were forced to make such arrangements. In their defense I will say that they have humored me and the old man for some time, so I harbor no ill feelings about their decision. This is not such a magnanimous gesture as it may sound since, let’s see, I have a house all to myself, hot water every time I shower, food in the refrigerator and quiet moments when I really need that nap. Ok, so there’s that twinge of regret when I really need to impart my wisdom to someone, to show off how superbly cool I am to a captive audience and to be in a room with someone who can stand upright on two legs and amuse me by just being there. However, the morphed tadpoles do manage to wiggle back upstream often enough to help me get those pangs out of my system and I have finally drug myself out of the stupor to engage in the “Me” times that have been neatly folded and stored under piles of dust, bits and pieces of kid’s school projects and clothes that once fit me. All those pipe dreams and silly notions of a mom raising three kids are being sorted, categorized and slipped on for a fit. It’s like going through Grandma’s attic, quite literally, and uncovering a valuable heirloom. I’m not putting these away for safe keeping anymore. Out they come and outta my way is my call to arms.
There are dreams we have as children and dreams that come in adolescence but once the haze of youth begins to flatten out from the reality of life as an adult those dreams come less often and are more quickly dismissed or stored. It's not that there aren't hopes and desires for ourselves squeezing by the daily grind into both subconscious and conscious thought. It is more that such ideas and dreams rarely get the concerted effort of consideration and are more easily brushed aside or sent packing than in early years. The body is shot and I don't feel like doing all the gyrations that kept me fit in younger years. Darn it I want to wear PJs that let me fulfill my Mama Cass dreams and just be comfortable instead of trying to impress some imaginable world. But you know I will of course, struggle to keep some 'semblance of youth, try on a new look, venture outward from time to time and enjoy the fact that I don't have to.
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