“The best tunes are played on the oldest fiddles.”
The morning is cloudy and chilly at 43 °, sweatshirt weather. I’m staying close to hearth and home today. I have bird feeders to fill and plants to water. I may even vacuum, but I don’t want to put undue expectations on myself. I did sweep the kitchen yesterday.
I am, by all external measures, old. My face is wrinkled, my hair mostly gray, and I tend to stoop. I can’t carry anything heavy or see without my glasses. I can’t walk far. I have to keep stopping. But despite all of these, I look through young eyes as if I haven’t aged. I am always a bit surprised when I look in a mirror. When I was young, I always wondered about old people, how it felt to be old. Now I know.
To quote myself, “In many ways I have become obsolete. The words and phrases of my youth have disappeared. When was the last time anyone ever asked for a church key? I remember calling dibs for a window seat in the car. I wore thongs on my feet. We got blitzed at parties. Couples made out at the drive-in. Some couples even went all the way which might have resulted in the family way and the girl going to her aunt’s. Some people were stuck up; others were finks. Life was cool, and groovy.”
My mother and father had their words. My father used to take his clothes to the cleanser. I found out much later that the word is endemic to Boston. My father grew up in East Boston. Everywhere else it was the dry cleaners. My mother used the word nosh. I figured out it meant food, a snack maybe. It took me a while to figure out who Jack Robinson was. I just knew he was quick. None of these are used anymore. We are the last generation to hold on to our parents’ words. They will disappear just as our words will.
In the car I always listen to oldies. I suppose golden oldies would be a more apt description. I sing along and keep the beat on my steering wheel. I don’t know contemporary music. I know the names of singers, but not what they sing. I’m okay with that. Right now Joni is singing from my turntable, on a 33 1/3 record.
Old age comes. I just don’t let it define me.
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keepthecoffeecoming.blog 
March 14, 2025 at 1:29 pm
I haven’t perused Coffee for a while. Early spring this year after an exceedingly cold winter. So too much work for an oldish man to do AND entertain myself on blogs like Coffee. Five calves this year. A record for us. Along with every nannie goat dropping a kid already, or soon. This is the last year I can do this. I’m selling the livestock to an egg customer. I’ll keep a few goats to keep the brush trimmed and keep most of the chickens since they’re very low maintenance. And I’ll keep the bird feeders and watering holes maintained.
Speaking of the birds, The little Titmouse, that imprinted on me for whatever reason, continues her support as I make my way around. I found out it was female during the cold weather when she got hugely fat with eggs. I know where her nest is. She hatched two eggs in the most bitter cold and only lost one chick. She makes quite the ostentatious show to greet me when I come up the hill and the Cardinals come, knowing the feeders are about to be filled. They’ve never been so trusting. Waiting in the bushes as I work, just a few feet away. Bluejays are thick this year too, I hear them warbling all over the hill when the Titmouse makes her show. They’re peanut junkies.