When I was 17 . . . .

When we had our first cold spell a couple of weeks ago, I woke up just knowing that I was 17.  17?  Really?  Yes, really. 

I was ready to jump out of bed, grab my favorite jumper and long sleeve blouse from the closet.  Put on my cat-eye glasses.  Find my penny loafers and my knee socks.  Rat my hair, smooth it in place and spray the living daylights out of with AquaNet hairspray.  Smear lip gloss on my lips (Bonne Bell, of course).  Grab my books that were covered with paper bags from the Safeway.  And race out the door just in time to catch the school bus. 

But alas and alack.  Imagine my surprise when I got to the bathroom and found the reflection of someone’s grandmother looking back at me.  I was sure that I would see my seventeen year old self in the mirror.  Who was that person staring at me?  My brain was absolutely convinced that I was a junior in high school, with all the perks and problems of youth.  Way before I had gray hair, stretch marks and crows’ feet.  Just in time for the youth revolution of the late 60s.  Right at the end of the girl groups.  And the beginnings of Jimi Hendrix’s flaming guitar, Me & Bobby McGee and the Beatles vs. Yoko.

Until recently, I never thought about how much someone’s outside never really reflected their insides.  And, suddenly, there I was - a teenaged girl trapped in this old(er) body.

No wonder my kids (especially my older daughter) cringes when I dance in the aisle at the grocery store.  And now my Gkids are starting to look the other way, too.  What.  You don’t feel the urge?  Well, it was okay when I was younger!  And when folks saw me dancing to the music down aisle 7 – they’d smile.  “Aaah.  Someone so young who loves life!”  But now it’s just staring – or heading the other way when they see me coming.  A grandmother would NEVER act like that.

And sometimes – no, a lot of times - I forget that I’m supposed to act my age.  How does one do that?  Do I suddenly need to find a cane that goes with all my outfits?  Can I no longer wear glasses that are a little funky and have to settle for wireless granny glasses?  Will I have to have blue hair that’s ratted into place and resemble a hair sprayed helmet (with or without AquaNet).  Is this the end of my car dancing days (Which tickles the crossing guards as I drive by on my way to work.  Well, at least they seem to appreciate it and they always wave back at me.)  And that I can no longer keep up the kids, much less my grandkids?   And that the fart/burp jokes that my Gkids tell are no longer funny?  But if I do that by accident (I swear) that it’s embarrassing for them but funny to me?

Well, let me just say this about that:  (ahem!)  Hell. No. I. Won’t. Go.

I can’t help that the 17 year old me comes flying from beneath the surface from time to time, which sometimes means that the filter comes off of my mouth.  And I enjoy having people think that I was once a hippie chick even if I never inhaled.  I mean – never even touched the stuff (I didn’t have to because I’m a party waiting to happen all by myself.).  That I laugh at all the wrong times and for all the wrong reasons just like I did back then.  I apologize (but not really) for embarrassing either my husband, kids or my Gkids from time to time because I don’t “act my age”.  I enjoy feigning shock at all the right times and for all the wrong reasons, getting a kick out of Aggie jokes horrid puns, and knock-knock jokes.  That I’m just as socially awkward now as I was back then.

But I do mind creaky joints, aching muscles, being reminded by my father (of all people) that I don’t need a two-story house.  I hate having to act my age when all I want to do is squirm out this old(er) body, getting my dancing shoes on and rock to the beat.  I don’t like that often I have trouble climbing stairs.  And that sometimes going downstairs is no picnic either.

I hate not remembering things, events, places or faces.  As I’ve stated before – my poor husband and older daughter have to be my memory.  Some of the things I do recall I consider odd or embarrassing to have remembered (like convincing my younger brother to dress up in a blouse, pencil skirt, scarf & high heels and then taking a picture to prove it).  And then I find myself fretting myself into a frenzy because I can’t even remember what I did last weekend.  Or the name of some of the members of our ward.  People I’ve known for years.  And their names?  Gone.    (That problem would be solved if everyone would just wear a nametag like the missionaries!)

I don’t like not being able to hear everyone’s conversations.  And why does it, at times, seem that everyone’s whispering?  Am I supposed to be thrilled that my hearing isn’t as good as it used to be?  And my eyesight?  Not too bad, but why am I now get nervous driving in a part of town that I’m not familiar with when it gets dark. Or almost panic driving at night when it rains. 

My hair is fine.  Very short and worn with Attitude. And I’ve come to appreciate the lovely patina that it’s developing.  And my wrinkles?  I’ve earned them.  My skin does have a lovely glow – thanks to a great shade of blush and the wonder of modern cosmetics and skin care.  And I hate that my cute freckles are now merging together and turning into age spots.  At what age did my skin start doing that?

And I just hate realizing that sooner rather than later that I’ll be leaving this earth.  Which isn’t a bad thing, but it’s just that I really am only 17 and I still have so much to do. 

See – I have this bucket list that gets longer every day.  The younger me is proud of that list and just knows that all will be checked off one by one.  But the older me realizes that I have to be practical and just scratch some things off, knowing that I’ll never have the money or the time.

Regrets?  I’ve had a few.  But the good I’ve experienced in my life outweighs all the sorrows, bad luck, missed opportunities, and wrong decisions that were of my own choosing.

Yet when I compare the “old” me (at 17) with the “new” me I realize that I’m more blessed than I could ever have imagined. And that I keep forgetting the Powers that be how grateful I am for all I’ve experienced – the good, the not so good and the bad.

That the image in the mirror may not be as cute as that 17 girl, but I’m okay with that.  I’ve had so much fun and I know that are still plenty of happy times ahead and great memories to build. 

That I haven’t used up all the gifts that were given to me.  I’ve even discovered new ones as I gained experience in this life.  That at 17, I never really appreciated the people and things around me.  I’m still working on it, but I’m so grateful for what I have.  And the things I know.  But that there’s so much I still have to learn.  And experience.  And share. And grow.

My life’s grand at 17 or 62. 

When I was 17, it WAS a very good year.  But at 62, so much better.

Dedicated to LED.  Keep on dancin'!