The morning is damp and ugly. It is cloudy and will stay cloudy all day. It is 44° now and won’t get much higher. I have a few errands, and that’s about it on my to do list. 

When I was a kid, Saturday was the best day of the week. I spent the morning sitting on the floor in front of the TV risking blindness, cereal bowl in hand, always Rice Krispies and watching my favorite programs. Most of the shows were westerns. I remember them all. I have never had a dog as well trained as Rin Tin Tin, familiarly known as Rinty. Annie Oakley was a woman sheriff, a novelty. She did great stunts on her horse. Sky King flew a plane, another novelty. I loved Captain Midnight, the first science fiction program I remember watching. The Lone Ranger was one of my favorites. I thought his theme song was exciting and perfect as Silver seemed to gallop to the sound. I didn’t know it was The William Tell Overture until I was much older. Even now I still call it the Lone Ranger’s theme song. Roy and Dale ended their program singing Happy Trails to You. I still know all the words. I think one of my memory drawers must be overflowing with the memories of those long ago shows. I remember the horses most of all: Silver, Scout, Champion, Buttercup, Trigger and Tornado, Zorro’s horse, all sit in one corner of that memory drawer. 

Saturday night’s dinner was a New England universal. We ate hot dogs, baked beans and brown bread. The brown bread was canned and had ridges from the can. My mother fried the brown bread and slathered it with butter. She bought canned beans, B&M baked beans, and doctored them a bit. Saturday night was bath night. What I remember most is my sisters screaming. My mother tortured them when she combed out the snarls after they got their hair washed. Back then there was no anti-snarl product. That screaming was also a Saturday ritual. 

Sometimes now, when I get to the kitchen, I forget why I’m there. I guess there isn’t  much room left in my memory drawers for any more memories, even one from the den to the kitchen. 

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.