Today’s prompt: frail. My first thought was old people.
Isn’t it funny how your perception of “old” changes as you get older? I’m 33. When I was younger (maybe 5 or 6) 33 was the age when you got gray hair. I’m 33 and still have all of my blonde hair (I have good genes, Dad is 58 and just went gray a few years ago, and not completely). Mom is 56. Sorry parents, but to younger Erin anybody in their 50s was ancient.
This woman has moxie. Kudos. Courtesy 2bp.blogspot.com
I’m currently in my room and I have the TV on. I’m listening to XM radio on Dish Network for inspiration for this post. It’s set on 90’s on 9. The current song is “You Learn” by Alanis Morissette from ’95. I remember it like it was yesterday, although I was in seventh grade. That was over twenty years ago!
To a 5 or 6 year, I should probably be graying, just like I thought at that age. But I guess when it comes to getting older, you have to listen to that little voice inside of you—not your graying hair or creaky joints.
Sorry–Maggie wouldn’t hold still for a birthday photo.
Today Maggie is 11. Though she doesn’t act it, technically she is 77. Although she would have qualified for an AARP card 23 years ago and countless other senior discounts long ago, my daughter doesn’t act her age. Sure, she has gray on the tips of her ears, but if I didn’t know, I’d never guess her age. She plays with Pippa, often instigating the play like she were still a puppy herself.
How fast 11 years have gone. I was a child of 22 when I got her. Both she and her brother were available. The breeder put both dogs on my wheelchair tray. Sweetie climbed my shoulder, and that was that. I was smitten.
Happy Birthday, Maggie. You’ll always be my pup.
Isn’t the American culture obsessed with reversing the clock? In my opinion it’s truly sad. We have stooped so low as using poison injections in our faces, only to have a face that doesn’t move. I have Botox in my spastic muscles about every nine months. It hurts like heck(ll). I can not imagine having them in your face, by choice.
The anti-aging industry is probably a billion dollar one, from anti-aging surgical procedures, “miracle creams,” even shampoo. What happened to “aging gracefully”?
Isn’t it supposed to be “it’s inside what counts”? In my humble opinion it’s other cultures that have the right idea. So what if you are getting older? My great, great uncle, Doug is 94. He looks 94. He is the sweetest man. He was in the Air Force during World War II, and could talk about it all day.
Don’t we become wiser with age? Why are we so ashamed?