I received my first Social Security check today. Well, the bank did, I should say. I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. On one hand I'm happy to be alive to draw it; yet on the other, I'm not exactly skipping through the daisy patch because I'm old enough to collect.
When I turned sixty-two the end of May, my step-son emailed me that sixty-two is the new forty. Uh-huh. Then why do I feel ancient? Why am I taking a power nap most afternoons?
Part of my aging angst comes from my sister's visit last week. Pauline is sixteen years older than I. She's had a few small strokes and as a result is rather unsteady on her feet. Every so often she struggles to find a word during the course of a conversation. She seems fearful of new technology. At one point she asked me if spending so much time on the computer was really "living."
Well, yes, for writers it is. We are both happy and vexed when we are tapping the keys, searching for the right phrase to make our lackluster prose shine.
I do find that I am always behind on the technology front. I have to ask my sons what this or that is. They patiently explain as I try--often in vain, I'm afraid--to put on an intelligent face. "You're clueless, aren't you, Mom?" my youngest will ask.
For example, does one twitter or tweet? And if I Twitter, does that make me a twit?
How big is MySpace? Room-sized, cubicle-sized...I'm a tad claustrophobic, you know.
Are book trailers like a bookmobile hauled by a semi?
Oh, they're like a movie trailer, you say; only they give the description of the book. Humm...how do I put one of those together? I just figured out how to design a web-site, and that took me 3 days of pure stress followed by a week of Zanax.
Is it any wonder I feel old when things keep changing at the speed of light. Take word meanings, for example. A hoe used to be a gardening tool. Drop the 'e' and you've got a street walker in platform heels and short leather skirts. I told the cashier at the grocery store today that I had the right change. "Sweet," he said. Huh? Honest to Pete, the language keeps changing faster than Larry King changes wives? I mean since when did "hooking-up" with someone change from meeting that person at a pre-arranged place to having sex? No wonder my grandson blushed eighty shades of red when I said, "Go on into the arcade, and I'll hook-up with you in about an hour at the food court." How...how was I to know? I'm an old person on social security, for heavens sake!!!!