Confronting my age….
Yes, I will be 60 years old, this month. I don’t feel, “60.” I don’t usually look “60.” With a little help from L’Oreal, my hair remains forever umber. The gray strands, become golden lowlights. That’s my story, and I am sticking to it.
My forever young, sister like partner in crime, my mom’s baby sister Aunt Dee, will be 72 in September. It seems like yesterday when we suffered pot munchies so severe, that we sawed a frozen Sarah Lee cake with an electric carving knife because the thaw took too long.
I remember the day, she stopped being the straight A, full ride college scholarship, sorority sister, Bobbie Brooks model that everyone suggested that I emulate. She asked my mother if I should get knocked up my Freshman year of college, like she did. God bless her, because my mother never made such a suggestion again.
My cousin Jeff will be 54 in August. His little sis, who loved me, much as I loved her mother, celebrated her 48th birthday, in April. She, was an adorable Tomboy and more like me, than anyone that I knew. We are so happy, she isn’t a grandmother, her daughter is a senior at Purdue.
So what if the older gentleman that lives next door is three years younger than I am?
It matters not, I am the rock n’ roll generation. Rust never sleeps, rock and roll never dies it just gets a little gray.
Peace. Geezers are groovy. Step back, David Gilmour.