Young at heart

Around this time of year, I become as restless as a newly penned mustang. Time is creeping up behind me as stealthy as a panther; every morning I gaze in the mirror looking for gray hairs, or "laugh lines," (something I don't find very humorous.)

My hubby, who I lovingly refer to as my best friend, acts as my worst enemy during this time. "Yep, tomorrow you'll be past middle age and headed down the slippery slope toward bland runny food and a wheelchair," he gloated as I checked my reflection in the bedroom mirror.

"Aren't you the charmer?" I asked, making a grotesque face at him. "Besides smarty, I'm thirty-five, and that's no where near middle age."

"Middle age is 35, tomorrow you'll be 36; you're over-the-hill. Might as well look at yourself now," he continued, "Because in a few years everything will start sagging."

"You're a ray of sunshine," I quipped, heading out the door with the boys. I slipped into the driver's seat of the inferno-red Nissan Sentra--we rented it to go to a funeral--but not before catching a glimpse of my reflection in the rear view mirror. Great, in a few years I'll look just like one of those apple-head dolls, I thought, looking at the near invisible lines in the corners of my eyes.

As I pulled onto the highway, the tiny car shot forward like a dart, almost giving me whiplash. Ooo, this might be too much car for this old granny to handle. I owned a Ford Probe in my younger days, and the thought of a sedan doing me in was a bitter pill to swallow. In fact, I was driving a red Nissan Sentra the night of my near-fatal accident. I regrouped and enjoyed the sheer power the tiny car had to offer.

We pulled into the parking lot of Wal-Mart, and I got out of the low-slung car at a snail's pace, every vertebra in my back, a back abused by years of bucking and falling horses, screamed in protest as I straightened up.

I was in full pity-party mode, and wondered aloud if Wal-Mart would give me a senior's scooter as we tromped across a parking lot as vast as the Sahara. With age comes wisdom, but on this day it bypassed me and went to my oldest. "Come on Mom, snap out of it," Seth ordered


d, "You're not old, you look 25. Besides, you always tell me to enjoy every minute of every day"

My heart soared as if it had wings. Bless him,he's actually been listening, and I am still young, I rejoiced. I felt giddy with life. In the wine aisle, I found my favorite brand of red wine I cook with, and feeling silly, danced and sang my way down the aisle toward my cart and red-faced oldest son. "What's wrong with you? It's not like anyone else is here."

Seth rolled his head and jerked it toward a column of boxes nearby. Curious, I walked over and saw a man, a "Red Foreman" look-a-like, stocking beer in a near-by cooler. He turned and looked me up and down, a knowing look in his teal-blue eyes. "Uh. . .I was happy I found my cooking wine," I explained.

"That's good; judging by your singing, I thought you were cooked," he joked. My face as red as a Coca-Cola box, I and the boys zoomed off to another department.

You would have thought that episode would have dimmed my bulb, but it added more water into my fountain of youth. The phrase "Carpe Diem" (seize the day) replayed in my mind as I made NASCAR racing sounds while I pushed a giggling Robert in the cart. Our fun ended when a lady, who resembled a warden from a women's prison movie, parked her cart in my way.

"Vroom, vroom." I sputtered as I waited for her to move.

"EXCUSE me. Do you HAVE A DAMN PROBLEM," she roared, leaning so close I could smell the foul stench of digested onions on her breath. Her eye's glittered like a copperhead snake's, and her fists were as large as grapefruits. She had six inches of height on me, I decided this was not a woman to be reckoned with.

Instead, I smiled politely and said, "I'm sorry I bothered you; but you see, I felt I had to amuse my children." I saw her "hackles" go down as she sniffed importantly, smoothed her dress and walked away. Now I felt the call of adventure, the call of recklessness. A flicker of an idea entered my head, and I acted. I headed over to the jewelry department and purchased. . .toe rings! Not exactly acting my age, huh?

But age is what you make it, and for me, I will always be "young at heart."

BTW, I researched it, and middle age is 40.