Monday, June 21, 2010

Another Year Older

Have you noticed how those birthdays just keep rolling around? I’m pretty sure I’m just imagining it, but it seems like the years are getting shorter.

I’m still shocked when I look at the calendar and notice that June is half over. Before you know it, the shopping days until Christmas countdown will begin. I’m not even sure I have all my Christmas decorations put away from last year. In fact, I know my Christmas lights—or should I just call them party lights?—are still wrapped around my deck railing. At least they are clear, so I can claim they have been left in place intentionally.

Anyway, I know it is officially my birthday because my sister-in-law delivered my birthday watermelon. She and my late brother-in-law, Dennis, gave me my first birthday watermelon when we visited them in Glendale, Arizona. Dennis carved “Happy Birthday Linda” on it. I believe he even had a candle stuck in it. Ginger has carried on the tradition without fail.

Okay, so birthdays aren’t all bad even when you’ve had so many you’re in danger of losing count. Someone asked me if I was 29 and I said, “Don’t be ridiculous—I’m 39.” Oh, wait a minute, that’s the exact age of my oldest son.

The bad thing about fudging on your age is people think you aren't aging well. Is it better to just fess up and let them tell you, you look so much younger? Last year, my son took me out to dinner and told them I was 65. This year he asked if I was 70?

On my birthday, I ate at Perkins. I ordered my delicious tilapia off the senior menu without being carded. They consider anyone over 55 to be a senior. I think we boomers need to come up with a better title than senior, which makes me think of someone who is ready to graduate. Does this mean whoever coined the term thinks we are about to kick the bucket, or "graduate" from life?

Maybe there are a few perks about getting older. My watermelon is in the fridge chilled to perfection. Discounts are sweet no matter what you call them. So look out senior discounts, here I come.

Copyright (c) June 2010 L.S. Fisher

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