It’s that kind of day.
So, got up on time, rushed breakfast but made it to the hearing (it’s a phone hearing but I don’t have good reception so I made the call in the car in the front yard – eh, it worked). It went – no idea how well. I made nearly two hundred calls to the call center in July – they showed two or three. The guy said they should have shown them all – but the lady I spoke to on August 2 said that wasn’t the case. Anyway, I don’t hold out a lot of hope here – but it’s only two weeks of benefits if I lose – and I haven’t actually GOTTEN those benefits yet. The important appeal is still in limbo. And no, no word on that in the mail today.
Junior, the scrawny kitten (not his name, not naming anything I will be trying to find a home for. Not. Naming. Him.) who needs the extra food had breakfast with me (that’s him face down in the can – no, I’m not a photographer) and decided midway that he wanted pancakes instead. No, he didn’t get them – he gets the can that’s bigger than he is! After the hearing, he decided he just wanted to rest on my shoulder. Never mind I’m cleaning things and up and down – the little turkey just stayed where he was.
So you know, training a cat to ride shoulders is a matter of patience and luck – mostly luck if you haven’t the patience. Some cats take to it naturally, like Love and Mr. Pancakes-rather-than-cat-food; others, like Egg, require a lot of training. To be fair, Egg was the champion – he could stay up no matter what I was doing without resorting to his claws. Love gets down once she realizes I’m going to be stooping over. The furpuff doesn’t seem to care – anything short of a cartwheel won’t budge him. Since I can’t do cartwheels we’ll never know if that would work – I kinda doubt it.
Anyway, as I’m working I realize he’s behind my neck. He’s small and they usually have to learn to ride there as they get older (Mr Showoff Egg would do it standing) and bigger. I glanced in the mirror, checking on him.
I guess I’ve known for a while. Standing straight was never my thing and it’s gotten harder. Of course, I don’t make a point of it with a passenger – but I hadn’t fully realized that I had a sofa back there. Yep, I’m officially a little old lady with a hump. Got a senior discount on my soda last night without asking. I’ll be dyeing my hair electric blue this weekend and joining AARP.
My SCA brother and I were talking this past Sunday about time and how much has passed. Were the Eighties really thirty years ago? It’s not fair – I meet college kids all the time that know all the words to Eighties hits – we would have all died of embarrassment if we’d known the words to the Fifties hits – other than ‘Rock Around the Clock’ and that only because of Happy Days. It makes it seem like time hasn’t passed.
Oh, it has – all the babies are either in college, having babies or buying houses. Little turkeys, growing up while my back was turned! Why is it my memories of college and early adulthood seem more vivid than those of my career and later life? It feels like I should be able to pick up the phone, call the guys and set up a RPG party – but that might be a bit more work since the closest any of us is to the other is about five hours drive. People used to be surprised when I told them my age – now they can guess without my help. Yep, time marched on, all over my life and face.
Which isn’t a bad thing – oh yeah, I’m doing what we all say we won’t, looking back, surprised at how quickly thirty years flies by. Understanding twenty years too late what Mama was trying to tell me. It’s just not possible to convey in words the impact the passage of time has. We all heard it from our parents; we tell it to our kids. And every generation goes through exactly the same thing.
Moses was in his eighties when God called him. Colonel Sanders was in his sixties when he perfected his chicken and started selling licenses. Abraham was – er, way older – when his promised son was born.
Life. Isn’t. Over.
It’s just a hump – literal and figurative. So I won’t wear a bikini this next spring – heck, I haven’t done that since my gallbladder was removed when I was nineteen (still have the lovely scar, thanks) – so what? I don’t have the physical abilities I used to – but I ain’t dead yet, either. Two or twenty years of life left – I don’t have any way or need to know. My job is to use them – preferably better than the last thirty.
Maybe that’s why we get to the stage where we see time differently. It’s a chance to understand both the need to get a move on – and the need to slow down. If we are dumb, we spend the rest of our time bemoaning what’s been lost and cannot be recovered. If we are wise, we learn to use our time better and make the most of it.
Well, the unnamed furpuff needs lunch and the laundry won’t do itself. Dogs need feeding (which wouldn’t be so bad if they could carry the 50lb bag in for me!), stuff needs sorting, resumes need sending, calls need making – life’s stuff needs doing.
And if things go very well, I get to further the Kingdom somewhere along the way. No better use of limited time than helping others find eternal time. Who knows, maybe I’ll turn out to be fertile soil after all.