ain't what she used to be

No, not the old gray mare. I'm talking about my old gray self. Of course, age is really a matter of perspective. I don't feel old —well, not most days, anyway. On the other hand, I am a Grandma. Twice. And I've been known to catch a glimpse of myself in a store mirror and wonder who the heck that grumpy-looking old broad is. Yup. Perspective.

Last weekend, J. and I treated ourselves to a pancake breakfast at a local diner. While browsing the menu, I discovered their 'senior discount' applies to anyone over 55. Yippee! I qualify, and gleefully informed our waiter that I'd have mine with a 10% discount, thank you very much. Hey, what's not to like about a discount?

Funny thing, though. I remember thinking, not so very long ago, that I'd never admit to being a 'senior'. At the time, it sounded so ... well ... elderly. And not in a good way. Discounts or not, I dreaded the prospect. But this week I've been checking the age requirement whenever I see a senior discount advertised, and grumbling when it's set waaay up there at 65. Hey, I qualify for discount pancakes, why not discount movies and travel, too? Ah, yes. Perspective.

The other day, after grumbling about how long it was taking our laser printer to crank out fifty perfect copies, I found myself telling my younger co-workers about office life in "the olden days". Wide-eyed with wonder, they were, as I regaled them with tales of the mighty, ink-spewing Gestetner machine. Now that was slow. And messy. And does anyone else remember "editing" lengthy documents with a pair of scissors and a whole lot of glue? Ah, the (not so) good old days. Now that I think about it, perhaps my co-workers' wide-eyed expressions weren't wonder, after all. More like horror and disbelief. (She can't be that old, can she? What the heck is a mimeo? Wasn't he an actor back in the 50s?)

Okay, to heck with perspective. I'm ancient and that's all there is to it. But y'know what? Despite my trepidation a few years back, I'm okay with the whole getting older thing. My once-blonde hair is gray by choice. It's the real me and I like it. I wear comfortable shoes because, darn it, comfort is good. I'd like to think I've learned a few things along the way, too. Like how to worry (a bit) less and how truly wonderful those roses smell when you finally slow down enough to enjoy them.