As of today, I have officially crossed the border into old-ness. According to this, I'm now a member of the "young old."
I'm okay with it; it would be pretty sad if I weren't, wouldn't it? I mean, how would I resist? I can't call my member of Congress and demand that I stop growing older.
One thing I've noticed is that I seem to be "cute" now. For example, Joe and I were eating lunch at a beach-themed restaurant when a Bob Marley tune came over the loudspeaker. We started grooving to the music. (Hah! That phrase right there dates me.) The waitress saw us and exclaimed, "Oh, you guys are sooo cute!" I got the exact same reaction from a server at Shake Shack, when I described my burger as "off the hook." She cracked up and told me I was cute! Eh, there are worse things than being cute, I suppose. Crotchety, for instance.
Now that I've crossed over, I'd like to live up to being a crone in the best sense of the word -- a wise woman (maybe I have a head start on that) who dispenses all sorts of good advice based on her knowledge of the world and its ways. Or maybe I just want to have as much fun as possible -- would that make me a "croney"? -- before I walk through the door to the next world, out of the dark and into the light. Hopefully I'll get to bask in it before I come back and try it all over again.
This Tolkien quote sums it up nicely:
“The Road goes ever on and on down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone, and I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet, until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.”
Then again, this one by Sigmund Z. Engel does too:
The age of a woman doesn't mean a thing. The best tunes are played on the oldest fiddles.