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Category Archives: Getting Older
I Remember…
I remember…
Phones that actually rang. They were connected to a wall and if you were lucky they had very long cords that allowed you to walk around the corner and sit on the floor rather than standing in the kitchen next to your mom. I remember it was a big deal when we got a cordless phone. It had a giant, extend-able silver antenna but it allowed freedom while talking on the phone. I could even walk to the mailbox and still have reception! That was technology, baby!
Broadcast television that required an antenna. The TV had three knobs — On/Off, one for VHF channels (usually stronger reception) and one for the UHF channels. Within those knobs were dials that helped “adjust” the picture. There were three major networks — ABC, CBS, and NBC plus PBS. There were local stations, as well. They specialized in news or “I Love Lucy” reruns.
When we finally got cable, it consisted of a single premium channel — either HBO (known then as Home Box Office), Showtime or The Movie Channel. We still watched the local stations via the antenna. It was two more years before we got a “cable box” that gave us a whopping 32 stations. One of those was WGN from Chicago. Why we needed a local station from anothe city, I’m not sure but it introduced me to the Cubs and Bozo the Clown.
Life before recordable TV. If you missed it, it was gone until rerun season.
Life before computers — I received a typewriter for high school graduation! My family got our first computer when I was 19 and a sophomore in college. I got my first email address (AOL, of course!) when I was 26 and in grad school.
Life when we walked without looking down at an iPhone. The ultimate technology combo — cell phone and computer. I got my first cell phone at 27 and there were vast patches of the country that did not have coverage. I had “minutes” and no texting. My children are not only aware of my phone — they take photos and videos, play games, and call their dad on my phone!
And of course, I remember life before blogging. But it wasn’t as good. I remember being a lonely, frustrated SAHM in a new city. I remember thinking that I was the only one. And I remember when I learned I wasn’t. I remember getting the first comment from someone to whom I was not related (Nezzy, I am looking at you!) and learning that a long-lost IRL friend (Unknown Mami) was a fabulous blogger herself who helped me learn the ropes. I remember when each an everyone of you found time in your busy lives to stop by.
I will always remember. And I will be always be grateful.
What do you remember?
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A Letter to the Face in the Mirror
Dear Face,
Although I see you every day, I am still a bit surprised when my eye catches a glimpse of you. There are new crinkles and catches, smile lines and punctuation marks. And am I mistaken or has the back half of my jaw decided to split with the front half?
I guess this is to be expected. You have been hanging around for over 40 years now. Yet I forget just how many trips around the sun we have made until I see you looking back at me.
Why did I not appreciate you when you clung more tightly to me? You loved me fully and yet all I saw were your imperfections. Now how I wish you would again cleave to me again.
So as we progress into this next 40, 50, or maybe 60 years of life, I know that more changes are to come. And I am not going to like anyall of them. I am therefore going to choose to love you as you are today. We earned all of our signatures and markings. Like a once newly painted wall marked with lines and dates representing a growing child’s changing height, we are marked by growth and time.
Please do what you can to hold on. Do not go gentle into that good night. Stay with me and fight. Do not believe that date on the calendar. You are only as old as you feel so if you could keep feeling about 30, that would be awesome.
Thanks again for being my face. It can’t always be an easy job. I appreciate that every morning I wake up and you are there. In the rear-view mirror of the car or a darkened window of a car, you are always waiting for me. Here’s to many more years together…
Most sincerely,
Star Traci
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But I Don’t Want A Pole in My Bedroom…
As the days dwindled toward my birthday, I became keenly aware of the vast amount of advertisement directly targeted at me. And well, it ain’t pretty, folks. It’s down right disturbing.
It seems the list of products to make me me a better cook, to organize my house, to get me in shape, to keep me young and beautiful and just in general, to make me better while also inducing comfort is as insane as the run-on sentence I just wrote. Whether it is Space Bags or Face Lift in a Bottle, I have noticed that all the women are right about my age. And they (and therefore, I) have a problem. And this product will solve my problem!
I am a lover of self-improvement as much as anyone. But things are getting ridiculous. No wonder I’m the neurotic mess that I am.
It used to be that the standard was “I can bring home the bacon. Fry it up in the pan and never, never let you forget that your a man”. And at that time, a bottle of Enjoli seemed to be the fix to that.
But now I am supposed to have a house decorated by Nate Berkus after having been purged of all unnecessary things by Peter Walsh utilizing Container Store products. And as a mom, waiting until school is much too late for my children to learn to read. And of course, there is a product to fix that,”My Baby Can Read”. This can then be followed by teaching them French, English, German, and Italian via ”Muzzy”.
It seems, my bra gives me back-fat and I have parenthesis on my face which of course, can be fixed by some new injectable junk to remedy those persnickity half circles. In other words, I don’t just need to “look good for my age”, I need to look young — unnaturally so.
And then I thought I had found the worst “As Seen on TV” product — the Pajama Jean — but no, there was more. I don’t need to just bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan. It seems to make him never ever forget that he’s a man, I need to start stripping. Yes, that’s right. For just a few monthly payments of $19.95, I can get a video teaching me how to do a pole dance and yes, it comes with its own collapsible pole.
Now I am all for keeping it spicy with my husband. And if the pole works for you, swing on, baby! I just feel like the marketing to my insecurities has gone insane! I don’t want a pole, restalyn, or pajama pants masquerading as jeans. I don’t want to be a MILF! Men get sexy and distinguished as they age, I get a four letter word.
So what’s a girl to do? I could spend hours ranting over the disparity of the sexes, the ridiculousness of Madison Avenue and QVC, or I can do one simple thing.
I can turn off the TV.
(Let’s see how that works out.)
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Posted in 40, Beautiful, Getting Older, Perfectionism
Tagged 40, Beautiful, Getting Older, My Life
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30 Days and Counting
June 6th. 30 Days until my birthday. Not just any birthday. THE birthday. The birthday that will not only move me a year. It will move me a decade. That’s right. The big 4-0! I have a month left of being in my thirties. Wow. Just writing that is shocking to me.
Most of the time, I don’t feel much older than the Winona Ryder Wanna-Be of my twenties. Except I bought reading glasses yesterday. Not prescription glasses but the dollar store style that magnify. Why? Because I am officially old enough to squint. I have been changing the screen size on my laptop. So now I officially have a pair of old-lady reading glasses.
And if getting older wasn’t bad enough, evidently I am getting stupid in the process. I can’t figure these glasses out. There seems to be a sweet spot where they magnify the text but otherwise, it makes everything wonky and gives me a headache. I see people wearing these glasses all the time. Do they constantly feel like they’re on a roller coaster or is it just me?
Anyways, with my new roller-coaster reading glasses, I am committing to writing again. I know that with the exception of a rant against clowns and a nostalgic look at my Doc Martens, I have not done much writing. I have relied on photos and memes. Well, the next 30 days, I am back on the wagon. I am BACK, baby!
So stop by when you have a chance, don’t make me cross this threshold alone. (Did I sound pitiful enough? Good!)
30 days…
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