The set up: Richard was here. We were looking through the food pix from Las Vegas (okay, there are lots of other pix, but we ignored those.) Robert started pulling up pix from previous trips, in previous years, scenes of us in the same places, with equally happy expressions and different but equally delicious-looking food.
What’s the big deal? Thanks for asking. The big deal is time.
It was like stop motion photography. Boom! There I am with cascading black hair and a surprising lack of road years. Boom! There I am now. No, this isn’t about aesthetics, though I can see how you’d think that. In those days I both dyed and Botoxed. I do neither now, but my short gray hair is cute and I’m used to my wrinkles.
No, this is about time, vis a vis Time Immemorial and the passage thereof.
Everything above this point was written months ago. While cleaning out some old partial blog-drafts, this one hit home because I’m turning 50 in two weeks. If that’s not getting bitch-slapped by Time, I don’t know what is. Turning 60, maybe? Two people close to me have done that recently, but they both did it with grace and style. And they had ten years to prepare. And they’re both men. If you think that doesn’t make a difference, you’re either kidding yourself or a guy.
50 is a turning point. I can join AARP. I can’t wear stupid trendy clothes and get away with it because it looks hot. My patience with stupidity has dwindled, and I want people to stand up straight. I’m going to sit in my living room now and wait until I can yell at some kids to get off my lawn.
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