Reaching Old :: Personal

For as long as I can remember I've wanted to be Old. When I was five I wanted to be ten, when I was ten I wanted to be 13, and, much to my parents' dismay, when I was 13 I couldn't wait to be 16. And now? Now I think age 80 is going to be the best. age. ever. My motives have changed but the basic truth remains; Being Old is a wonderful thing. In this situation - as is the case in most situations - Old is an obviously arbitrary term, much like the way 'when I grow up' is tossed around as if we all know what it means.

I've yet to meet anyone who knows what this phrase means.

Still, I want to be Old. If Old is synonymous with wise, which happens to be synonymous with experienced, then Old, by all means, is something I'd like to be. It's an attraction not unlike the way I'm attracted to savory foods after eight p.m. - an addiction of sorts. Like a magnet is helpless against the pull of steel, I too am helpless against the pull of wanting to be Old.

It isn't the flesh colored hearing devices fit snugly in the ear, nor the excessive use of words like slacks and hankies. While these things flirt for my attention like a young boy flirts with his girl by throwing rocks up her skirt, they aren't what have won me over.

That honor would go to the story.

Oh, how I long to have a story. A well written narrative with depth, and breadth, and flavor - some sort of culmination of climbed mountains, swam oceans, and eaten Italian food. Somewhere it was written on my soul that this story is perfected by reaching Old and as a result I envy those whose tale has been mastered. I listen to their beautifully written autobiography and hope, pray really, that their wisdom, experience, and years can swim across the air and seep beneath my skin to make me even just one minute closer to Old.

So I wait with a mixture of eager anticipation and longing, as if tomorrow were my birthday, or Christmas, and I try to make today a good page in the story of my life.

Here's to living to be Old.

Have a wonderful weekend.

Michelle

Being Sophisticated :: Personal

When I was in elementary school I had a friend named Katie. Katie was homeschooled, well educated on all the British literature, and knew everything there was to know about etiquette. She knew where to place her silverware while eating, how to remove her napkin from the table and secure it upon her lap, and when it was appropriate to speak at the dinner table. The girl knew it all. And I was totally jealous.

I longed to pace the floors of my home with such class and elegance. I yearned to know the proper way to ask for the salt to be passed and I would have died to hold my teacup with my pinky finger reaching for the sky. Really, I think I just wanted to be her.

One summer day Katie's mom agreed to give us a lesson in etiquette. Together Katie and I spent hours choosing the perfect outfits for our special afternoon tea and attempting to position our hair into the perfect bun atop our heads. We then moved to the kitchen where we set the table, per direction, and placed tiny cucumber sandwiches upon the most beautifully ornate china I had ever seen. When it was time we took our seats and directed our attention to Katie's mother who was reading from the weathered pages of a book that had to have been a century old. This was clearly the real deal.

And then, then, the tea was served. I have no idea what medley I chose or what color my teacup was, but clear as day I remember ruining the guise I had tried so hard to keep. Katie's mom offered me milk - IN MY TEA - and in a matter of seconds my cover was blown. I can't recall the exclamations, exactly, but knowing me they most likely included "ick, yuck, disgusting, and but won't it curdle?."

Leave it to me to use the word curdle at afternoon tea.

Then I tried the milk. I most likely plugged my nose while doing so, but the shame from my initial reaction prevented me from proving my ignorance further by not participating. The lesson continued and a meal of cucumber sandwiches ensued, but the damage had been done. It was certain that I was no homeschooled, etiquette knowing, pinky raising girl.

Colton is gone tonight which means I can get away with working late and eating Brie...for dinner. I've made myself a pot of mint tea and I'm eating my fancy cheese with a few of those fancy water crackers that don't really taste like anything.

And, because I'm feeling extra sophisticated, I'm putting milk in my tea.

Have a fabulous Monday.

Michelle

Mailed Love :: Personal

I think we can all agree there isn't anything quite as wonderful as receiving a handwritten card or package in the mail. Lately we've been spoiled by our incredible families who have done an excellent job of reminding us that we are loved. I was so excited about our special delivery last week that I took pictures, lots of pictures, to document the joyous occasion. Mail, real mail, makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside.

I'm taking advantage of this opportunity to tell you that box number two was filled with my mother's homemade granola bars and homemade licorice caramels. And yes, I'm totally bragging.

Have a wonderful Wednesday.

Michelle