My name is Linda and just by having that name, I am pegged as a Baby Boomer. Was anyone named Linda after 1960? I think it may be against the law, but don’t quote me on that. (In my class there were four Lindas, two Malynda/Melindas and two Belindas. 8 out of 26 girls. That is approximately 1/3, see a trend here?) I am married to the love of my life and I’ve lived long enough to know that. I have two wonderful children and one perfect (actually she is, really, don’t argue with me, I know your grandchildren are perfect too) granddaughter. I have friends who have loved me long enough to qualify as life-long friends. I have seen marvels and miracles. Why in the world am I attempting a blog at my advance age? Sixty-three if you know me (and actual chronological age), forty-four (how I feel) if you don’t. Well, I love to read other people’s blogs, hints and tips (Pinterest anyone?) and then get all depressed because virtually none of them are blogs, hints and tips (yes you Pinterest) really relate to me, my life and most of all, my age. Seeing beauty tips from twenty somethings who think they invented eye-liner. Wonderful meal tips on how to get your three year old to try something new. How to keep a house clean when you have toddlers. What to do with all those Legos your kids collect. Hints on creams and exercises to keep wrinkles at bay from some young woman who has not hit thirty yet. Deep sigh. Surely I am not the only Baby Boomer who has wondered if they need to just crawl onto their ice floe and drift away to the polar bears.
Short aside here. Mother told my sister and me about how native Alaska Indians (can’t remember if they were Eskimos or not) when they reached an age they were no longer of use to the village, would tie a salmon around their necks, sit down on an ice floe, and just drift off to the polar bears. Now mind you, we didn’t know if it was true and our parents did live in Alaska for several years, but we took it to heart. Any time Mother or Daddy would start giving us grief about what we were doing wrong with our lives, children, jobs or you name it, we would start telling them we were taking them back to Alaska, finding a salmon and well, you get the drift.
Everyone, ie. the media, tells us that sixty is the new forty and we boomers are just hitting middle age. Well, I don’t know about you, but I sure as heck don’t intend to live to be 126. I know realistically that I am not middle-aged, but I am also not living with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. Oh dear, I am dredging up such ancient sayings aren’t I? I want to be able to read about other women who have experience with face creams that can actually relate to me. How do you keep a neat house when all you want to do is sit on the couch, drink coffee and watch the Today Show and then later binge on some guilty pleasure TV show? What do I do to take an old tried and true menu plan I did for my family when there were four of us and make it just for two? Where do I find fashionable clothing that does not make me look like Delta Dawn?
Okay, another digression. This past Halloween, for our annual Halloween Party I decided to dress as something other than menacing, so I went with a pretty pink princess them. My wonderful and talented sister (shout out to Laura) made me a perfect pink tutu out of tulle. I had a pretty pink knit top, a pretty pink crown, pretty pink tights and shoes and of course, jewels to go with the whole outfit. Make up to match. In my mind’s eye, I was a pretty pink princess. I pranced. I greeted. I played gracious hostess. I played games. I was lovely. Then, oh dear Lord, then I saw pictures. I was next to my pirate husband so there was no denying it was me. There, instead of a pretty pink princess, stood Delta Dawn. I can weep even now thinking of it. Next party, I’m back to being dark. I’m thinking a very old wise vampire.
Do you have similar problems and questions? Do you have the same stories to tell that I do? We are not our grandparent’s generation. We are not our parent’s generation. And we are not our children’s generation. But, we are relevant. We are the movers and shakers. We are the biggest and most progressive generation. We moved mountains. And, we are still relevant.
I don’t know where this blog will take me. I don’t know how long I will continue to have brilliant insightful comments. I don’t even know if anyone else cares or wants to read this. I guess in the long run, I am doing this for myself. If I want to rant about the ridiculous new trend of four bra straps showing, I can without driving everyone near me insane. I want to be able to snort out loud when an actress the age of my daughter tells me how she is keeping her youthful skin with such and such product. I want to shake with righteous indignation when the Helen Mirrens and Candice Bergen are described as an older actress instead of a beautiful talented actress.
If you are willing, I would love to have you stroll along with me. Tell me your stories. Tell me your fears. I want to hear what you remember of the Fifties. Were the Sixties really the height of music? Did you disco in the Seventies? Love shoulder pads in the Eighties? Let’s go boldly where no one has gone before. (Yep, let’s discuss Star Trek).