The Quotophiles

Our quote for this week is a Guatemalan saying: Everyone is the age of his/her heart.

So how old are the Quotophiles?

Colette: If Sandra Cisneros is correct, we are all, at all times, every age we have ever been.  When we turn 20, we are still 19 and 18 and 17, etc…under the surface. I like this idea.  Human tree rings.  It doesn’t account for being older than we really are, however. 

 On any given day, I am likely to be a wide range of ages.  Take Fridays as an example.  I get off early on Fridays.  When I leave work at 1:00, I am buoyant and the day is full of possibilities.  I feel reckless.  On the way home, I blast Vampire Weekend.  I want to call my friends, make plans and do tequila shots.  I’m about 25-years old at 1:00.  By the time I get home, I realize my friends aren’t 25.  They are at work and I can’t call them yet.  I remember that people who are 25 aren’t even awake yet.  I age a couple years before I get inside my house.  After putting away my things and getting lunch, I start to feel like I should be responsible and use my afternoon wisely to get things done.  I do a mental check of my “have-to” list (house cleaning, lawn mowing, laundry, grocery shopping, running to the bank) and before I know it, I’m 40-years old.   Middle aged, but not hopeless; I still want to go out and play when I’m through with my chores.  Flash forward a few hours.  After all those chores, I’m feeling tired and my shoulder probably hurts from sweeping.  Now I’m 50.  My middle aged self would like to take a nap.  My inner rings are disappointed.  

 From this point on, I age exponentially, like a flower dying in time lapse photography.  My evening is wide open, but I’m shutting down.  I could meet some friends downtown, but the traffic…bleh.  I could listen to live music at The Basement, but the crowds…bleh.  Expensive drinks, bleh.  Parking, bleh.  I’m now older than my parents and twice as stodgy.  By the time the 20 something crowd is hitting the town, I might as well be 90, revisiting my early bird dinner special, talking about my senior discount and shuffling off to the bathroom with my walker. 

Emily: I feel like this is the wrong answer to this question, but I suppose I’ve always been old at heart. I like to eat dinner early, go to bed early, rise early, take naps. I’m curmudgeonly. I’d rather pull weeds than go to a party. I wear the prescribed amount of sunscreen and a large brim hat when pulling said weeds. I get upset about things like the timing of stoplights and neighborhood speeders. Sometimes I see upsetting things on the local news and want to write a letter to someone, anyone. I started using the turn of phrase, “Kids today…” when I was eighteen. I keep track of my daily fiber intake. However, I do not like prunes. I always have a cardigan on hand. Movies are too loud. Taken together this makes my “real age” what, like, 83?

Jolly Librarian: I would like to say that I am the eternal college student, still doing the things I did in my early 20’s but, alas, that would be a lie. I still like many of those things, but I have added some qualifiers over the years. Yes, I want to go to the beach, but not enough that I’ll ride eight in a car and share one hotel room with all my car mates. I would like to see the newest movie, but if it means sitting behind some chatty person on a cell phone, then I’ll wait until it comes out on Netflix. Sure, I’d like to go see Snow Patrol in concert again, but I can no longer abide the nosebleed section where the cheaper seats are. Of course, many of my friends say that I’m only being sensible. But let’s face it; sensible is just another word for middle aged. 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s