The Belated Report

[rolanni]

All righty, then! Chores have been retired, po box run has been accomplished, hairs have been cut, cottage cheese taken on at the grocery.

There was a sympathy card at the post office box, and a bag of hot chocolate mix. I don't know what lunch will be -- probably hot chocolate isn't lunch by itself. I may call something in, as a better alternative to having Firefly cook.

My plan is to bear down and work this afternoon and tomorrow, since I am temporarily ahead of the chores. Well, not all the chores; I owe those two folks headshots and "a brief bio," and should probably do that first. I think I have a brief bio and the headshot problem has been solved -- thanks to all who stepped forward to share their expertise! -- and that's probably a better use of my time than angsting over what I'll make to eat.

So. First world problems. Not going to be able to say that much longer.

The stylist is a music enthusiast -- big Elvis fan, follows a particular impersonator; has plans to go with a girlfriend to the Grand Ole Opry; not only knows what The Band was, but can reel off the names of the anchors. She already has tickets to see Willie, Dylan, and Sheryl Crow at Bangor this summer. I didn't know Willie was coming to Bangor this summer.

Today, she said that she's starting to feel old, and I got a little bit of a shiver right then. Steve had told me he was starting to "feel old" -- and he wasn't wrong: once you start mooching into your 70s, you're legitimately old. But to feel old -- I don't. I feel tired and sad and lost, but I don't feel old -- which is just another item in an ever-growing list of things that I don't know how I feel about.

And on that note -- off to order in lunch, and find me that "short bio."

Memories kicked up a picture from eight years ago.

 

 

 

 

 

Also, proof of hairs being cut:

 

Comments

[mirlacca]

Nice cut! That's a very elegant color. (I remember when you colored your hair purple, which probably influenced my decision to go blue. My gray is not elegant.)

I keep thinking about things like buying livestock, and then remember how old I am. I've decided that I am as old as I feel when I wake up in the morning, and whether or not that involves staying in bed for the rest of the day is irrelevant. Currently I am either 39 or 45. Could go either way.

[djonn]

When it comes to "getting old", I have long subscribed to what I refer to as either the Broadway Musical Theory or the Irene Ryan Theory on the matter, excerpted from the musical Pippin:

"Here is a secret I never have told,
Maybe you'll understand why:
I believe if I refuse to grow old,
I can stay young till I die..."

The full song remains one of my favorite set pieces in all musical theater - and I believe I've seen more different productions of Pippin over the years than any other stage musical. (Non-musical plays are a much-different matter, owing to almost-annual pilgrimages to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival beginning in junior high school.)