Since my hip replacement, I'm feeling my age. I'll turn 50 next summer, and not only has the AARP found me and begun mailing me enticements to join via snail- and email, but somehow the Scooter Store and several assisted living facilities have decided I need their services as well. It's enough to make my hair turn gray! Hah. David's Design Salon and I have that covered, so to speak. Thank goodness for Shades EQ.
Hubster is older than I am, though, and will blaze the path for me this winter. And that is as it should be.
When we saw an ad that Paul Simon will stop here in St. Louis on his next tour, we jumped at the chance for a date night featuring our favorite mid-town restaurant and this concert. I've bought fun boots for the occasion, even. Two days ago, the Wall Street Journal featured the tour (that's a link to the WSJ article). Mr. Simon is garnering a new set of fans with this tour -- he's 70 this year.
When the $%^& did that happen?! The last time I watched Scarborough Fair on Youtube, the guy was 28! Jeez. And if he's 70, how far behind can I be?
On the bright side, I always have something to contribute when I find my self in the company of an older crowd (which is more often than it used to be it seems). I think it makes folks feel superior when they're my parents' age and can ask me how I'm fairing with my hip. Even though I'm doing just great and when I get asked how it's feeling, I say it isn't because it isn't (feeling, that is... most days I just forget I had the replacement done), it still makes them feel the tiniest bit superior to inquire after my health. I'm fine with that -- it's good karma. I hope there's a nearly 50-year-old around to feel superior about when I'm 70. Heck, 80 for that matter. Which, all of a sudden, doesn't seem quite that preposterous.
Also a positive is that when you're a geezer, you get to sit in the geezer seats at the baseball game. And they're some pretty damn good seats, let me just say that, in spite of the fact that we were surrounded by gray hair and trophy wives. The guy sitting next to us had on a World Series ring the size of a golf ball and it turns out that he was a personal assistant to Lou Brock. How cool is that?!
We made the 14-year-olds we took with us sit in the nosebleed seats behind the first base foul pole on the 300 level and we took the 12th row seats behind the alphabet rows behind 3rd base. Whatever that means. (What it means is that Brother-in-Law had a grab at 4 slingshot t-shirts, one of which practically hit him in the numbers for Pete's sake, and didn't catch a one.)
And, at nearly 50, lusting after Yadier Molina - who had a spectacular game last night and was responsible for 3 of our 7 runs (this is a better link than the last one, I think, and goes to the Cardinals website) - is considered quaint. In fact, Hubster will even make sure I'm paying attention when he comes up to bat. I yelled myself hoarse. Gosh, is that catcher cute!
I was only disappointed that our rally towels didn't have the Rally Squirrel on them.