Monday, December 10, 2012

WHERE DOES THE TIME GO?

     My mom turned 90 on December 3d. I threw a party for her yesterday. Here's what she and I looked like:

Go ahead, say it. We look old. She perhaps slightly more so than me, but neither of us exactly in our prime. And, in fact, a close-up photo of the back of my head would have revealed that I was wearing my newly-acquired hearing aids. How's that for decrepitude? On Saturday I will turn 57. And yet, when I type that number, it feels like I'm lying. Whenever I read in a newspaper article that the subject is 57, my immediate reaction is: "Wow. Old." I have to stop and remind myself: Yo. That's you, honey.
     Here's the thing: there are so many of me inside my head. The little girl who believed that witches resided inside the toilet and emerged when someone flushed, so in order to defend myself I would wash my hands, open the bathroom door, stand poised like a sprinter on the starter's block, then flush at hyperspeed and run like hell.  The 8-year-old who dreamt at night of marrying the 19-year-old Paul McCartney.  The tween who attended the Zionist summer camp where we sang the Israeli national anthem at line-up each morning.  The high-schooler who tied my skate laces together over my shoulder to take the subway to the rink at Rockefeller Center.  The incredibly sheltered college student who developed a crush on my classmate, Domingo Nieves, eight years older than me and back from serving as a medic in Vietnam.
     We're all in here, all the people I've been. The young lawyer who spent her Saturday nights sitting in the back of comedy clubs, chatting with the other wives and girlfriends of the comics.  The me who used to act in community theater.  The me who worked as a stringer for my local paper.  The me who was a single mother of a two-year-old son, spending weekends touring all the local firehouses so he could sit in the cabs of the trucks and wear the hats that swallowed up his head and the yellow coats that came down to his ankles.  The me who represented a client on appeal who had been sentenced to the death penalty.
     All of those me's and their moments on the stage are gone.  But still... I feel so sure that there are many more me's still to come, so much to look forward to, so many bitter and sweet experiences from which to learn.  So I don't feel old at all, really.  And maybe, if I'm very fortunate, I never will.

10 comments:

  1. As long as you still believe in toilet witches, you'll never be old. Judging from her smile, neither will your mom.

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    1. Wait... You're saying there AREN'T toilet witches? Now you tell me! Thanks for saying such sweet things, Genevieve! At least, I think you said sweet things... Would you mind speaking up just a tad, dearie?

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  2. Where DOES the time go???? I know what you mean about reading that someone is in their 50's or 60's and thinking, "old" and then realizing...hey! that's my age. :o}

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    1. And I suspect that there are mornings when my mom wakes up and thinks, Gotta get the kids ready for school! I think that our ability to retain pieces of all the people we've been through our lives is a beautiful gift. Thanks for visiting!

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  3. Oh, addressing these numbers is definitely a scary, surreal thing! I'm 55, so I'm right up there with you, Susan! Though I don't see us as "many people" in one, but different versions of ONE person, I, too, see more revisions to come!

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61HW8uxzEZs

    (Toilet Witches! LOL! What an imagination!)

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  4. Donna! What a PERFECT video for this subject: Frank Sinatra singing "Young at Heart!" Thank you SO much for checking in and helping me remember that it's not the numbers that tell us how old we are. (At least I THINK Frank was singing "Young at Heart." My hearing's not what it used to be. I might have misssed a couple of the lyrics... There's a possibility that he was singing "Whoops, there goes another rubber tree plant...") XXX

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  5. Yes, I love the way you see (and write) about all the me's inside you. Lovely. And I agree, we must always realize that we are made up of so many parts that make the ONE ME. The only problem with one of your 'me..s' is that I was the one going to marry Paul McCartney!!

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  6. Hey Pam! How nice of you to check in! I seem to have struck a chord with this post! You know, in retrospect, it's probably a good thing that Paul wasn't keeping his eye out at the time for 8-year-old girls...

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    1. Umm, yes, that's true! :+) I like your blog!

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    2. Thanks! And I really like yours!

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