Miss Kitty Lives On

It’s not usually this bad. I mean, it’s not always easy, but it sure doesn't stop me dead in my tracks. Everybody else I know seems to be getting along just fine with it all.  No fuss, no muss, just business as usual. No whining or cry babying, no big humps in the road. So what in the world is my problem?

I was standing in the shower last night, and I don’t know about you, but that seems to be where I do my best thinking. In the mornings when I shower, I mentally plan out my day and in the evenings I guess I’m going over how it all turned out. Anyway, I’m standing there, thinking about this that or the other, and all of sudden my eyes just start welling up. I tried to get myself in check but I just couldn't seem to do it.

Now I’m not a crier folks. It’s rare that anyone will see that happen. And generally, nine times out of ten, it’s over sentimental things instead of sadness, and most often it’s going to be something to do with one of my children. But last night, it had nothing to do with my kids, my husband, my job or anybody else. But for the life of me, I could not make those tears stop flowing.

By the time you all are reading this, I will have gotten over what is bothering me so right now. Time will have passed, and I will most likely have moved on and settled into it, for better or worse. Not much sense in it being any other way, I’d heap rather it being happening than not if you know what I mean. The alternative, as they say, wouldn't please me at all.

The mail has already begun to arrive, shouting the news as I lift the lid on every envelope; funny ones, rude ones, sweet ones, and everything in between. I’m half expecting a full-fledged marching band to show up at my front door any day now playing my all-time favorite “You’re Too Old To Cut The Mustard” by the late great Buck Owens.

I’ll be half a century old in a few more days. It plumb makes my whole body shudder to say that out loud. I don’t know why we all seem to have such trouble with some of the ages that roll around. We’re intelligent people and we know full well we can’t hang out here forever. We’re blessed to be here for a time, however long that may be, and it’s our job to turn that into as much of an adventure as we possibly can while we’re here.  

I knew exactly when my age began to show, and that the new number approaching was going fit me better than I’d liked to admit. My husband is an avid Western watcher. He likes the Gunsmoke episodes more than most anything. I used to fuss and moan about “wasn't there something else on television worth watching more than that”? Well I’m here to tell you, I’m not sure who is racing to get that dang show turned on in the afternoons now first, him or me. And worse than saying out loud that you’re finally that BIG FIVE-0, is admitting that suppertime can wait until you've gotten your circa 1870, Dodge City Kansas, Matt Dillon fix.

 P.S. And for the record; while the younger female generations seem to be insulted when they are whistled at as they walk down the street or drive by in their cars, I on the other hand, glory in it now. Matter of fact, I’m not beyond slipping a ten spot here and there just to make sure it still happens on occasion. Age is just a number, and a whistle a day keep the “old” blues away.. wink wink.