Do you love to entertain, to live at Party Central and have people in and out of your house day and night, giving “round the clock” all new meaning?
Yeah, me neither. I mean, I used to, back when our bodies had energy. In those days, it was fun seeing guests fly past the window as the stereo blasted away when I drove home with another bag of ice. Now, we use ice for sore muscles, and my visiting sister-in-law actually complained during the weekend that the Malt-Shop Oldies music station on our cable was playing songs that were too loud.
When I find that 1950s music is too loud, well, pilgrim, that’ll be the day that I die.
In wilder times, we worried that all the cars parked in our driveway and on the street and grass would irritate the neighbors. Nowadays, the neighbors have parties constantly and we worry only our teenage granddaughter Karson, who just got her driver’s license, will be charged with accidentally driving through our house and bowling us over as we participate in our weekly Ben-Gay Pain Clinic.
When our kids were coming up, my wife was the sort of mom who took in stray friends of the children after they had spats at home and needed a breather, or, just as likely, their parents needed a breather. She would sit them down and talk about how good they actually had it, but in a way that didn’t threaten their rebellion. Today, we wish our own parents were alive so we could run home to them.
We had company last week: first daughter-in-law Michelle, who spent the entire time helping us with our computers and phones; then my brother Mike and his wife, Barbara, on a stopover on their way to Florida – a welcome visit because I will be undergoing surgery soon and want to see everyone without having to travel to do it.
Both family visits were easy on us. Still, JoAn and I are recuperating because it was out of our ordinary life. Those get-togethers didn’t count as parties, but we feel like we tied one on and danced with lampshades on our heads. (Do people today even understand that reference?)
We cooked, ate out, visited granddaughter Madison in the hospital; ordinary activities, but much easier on the younger generations than us Alamonians (people born before 1836).
Kids, the first 100 years are the hardest.
SPEAKING OF AGE: Of the many bogus telemarketing calls I got on my cellphone Friday, I laughed at one before I hung up: “Good news! We’re forgiving your college loans.” I graduated in 1977 (Go, Dawgs!), and if I still had college debt 40 years later, I would be embarrassed. As a matter of fact, I never had college debt in the first place because I worked all the way through, carried the G.I. Bill in my backpack, and bought used textbooks.
Reach Glynn Moore at (706)823-3419 (unless you’re a telemarketer) or email@example.com.