From the Heart
Released in 1967 by The Beatles on their album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band: “When I’m 64.”
I was 12. I was in the sixth grade at North Elementary. Mr. Victor Harber was my teacher. Mr. Robert Morris was the principal. Mr. Loren Williams was the superintendent of schools.
Life was pretty simple. Roller skating on Saturday afternoon. The Diana Theater or ABC Drive-In on Saturday night. Nazarene Church on Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday night for prayer meeting.
Most of my world was located from Field Drive to Conner Street and Forest Park to the homes of my northeast side friends. I was to come home when the street lights came on. If my parents needed to find me, they just looked for my bike at whatever friend’s house I was playing.
We had a telephone party line PR32149.
64 sounded so old. Today? Not so old.
Why? Because on September 3, I will turn 64.
I just do not feel like I thought 64 would feel. Well, maybe after yoga class or working a 12-hour day at the car lot, I get reminded that parts of me are a bit creaky and achy. I often have to drag my shadow home.
My get up and go ain’t what it used to be. A 15-minute power nap is powerful. A 60-minute nap with a blanket is wonderful.
Eleven o’clock is my new night owl bedtime. Sleeping in is now 8:00 a.m. I may need my bran but coffee is my “go to” breakfast.
Emily asked me how much gray is in my hair. I told her to ask my hairdresser, Debbie Alvey. After all, only your hairdresser knows for sure.
My hands look more like my mom’s hands every day.
My grandkids love it when I dance with them. They just shake their heads and laugh. They warn me not to hurt myself.
I told them I still had my 33s, 45s and 78s. You know? Records. They just looked at me with blank stares.
I have my Mamas and Papas album where they are sitting in a bathtub. My favorite album is still that of Carole King’s Tapestry. Now that was pure music to the ears.
I think of myself as middle-aged, but that means I would live to be 128. I now say that I am in the late fall of my seasons.
I hear the young guys at work talk about their grandparents and realize they are my age.
The question I am asked most is “When are you going to retire?” I tell them I am not old enough, although many of my friends have done just that.
64 … too young for Medicare and too old to show cleavage. If I show my cleavage, I show my midriff.
I’ve had friends that have gotten a few things nipped and tucked and lifted and perked. My kitchen got a facelift.
I will never be this young again. I’m going to enjoy life. I keep rolling back the odometer of my husband.
64, slow down, time is moving too fast. Gotta make this feeling good last. Looking beyond the hard times that never last. Looking for fun and still feeling groovy!