Splintered by Time

I had this week's post almost entirely written when I realized if I wouldn't like reading it, why would anyone else. My writing voice isn't silenced often, but it is right now, so I'm going to have some break weeks. I admit politics weigh heavily on me as they do many others, and I'm not unhappy with the political things I have written, but I'm not a political columnist and am not qualified to be. I hope you keep reading even when the column is in reruns (including businesses of the week). Thanks for letting the Window be on your list since the late 80s. ~ Liz

March 20, 2021

If you didn't know your age, how old would you be? I've thought about that off and on for a couple of weeks now. The question (for me) came from the lyrics of a song I don't remember by a group I don't remember that I heard...somewhere. Sometime. 

At the age I am now, recent memories are little pieces of the whole. Instead of wide swathes of color, they've become like a kaleidoscope. Always colorful, always beautiful, but never quite the same. When I was trying to come up with something profound and metaphoric, I thought of jelly beans, but they are always smooth. But my friend Marietta Snow used to bring stained glass candy to work. The flavors were separate, but if they hadn't been, the candy would have looked like this. 

That's the way memories are now. They have sharp edges and sometimes they are hazy. Splintered by time.

So, if I didn't know my age, I'd go back to when memories were large and complete and as smooth as jelly beans. Not sure what age that would be, but I know I'd like it.

I love women's clothing right now. The designers seem to have realized that many of us are not tiny, built like hourglasses, or 17. But, still ... I guess I'd go back to an age when clothes were more fun because they fit better.

I'm bewildered by the fact that five of the Magnificent Seven--our grandkids--are adults.

One of the others has a driver's license and a job. Even the seventh one is a year or two into double digits. I think his mother tries pushing down on his head to slow his growth, but he's going to pass her up pretty soon.

Eleven then--fifteen come Tuesday. ❤️

Hmmm...if I were just 20 years younger than I actually am, they'd be little again. Maybe I'd do that.

The past five years have been pretty rife with loss and heartbreak, so I guess I could just be five years younger. That would work, wouldn't it?

I cared about all the wrong things when I was in high school. I was probably smart enough, but I wanted to be popular. I'm sure if I were 16 again, I wouldn't care as much about being popular, but I'd work harder at being smart. I'd be nicer, too. I wouldn't leave such a trail of things I need to apologize for.

If I were in my 40s, nothing would hurt and I could set down on the floor and actually get up without the help of a sturdy chair or a strong hand. The full-blown wrinkles that I'm melting into would be only harbinger lines denoting character. 

Maybe I would be 28 instead of the 48 I was when my first book was published. That was such a fun year, but if I'd been 28, my mom would have been alive to see it.

My friend Nan Reinhardt wrote about this a few weeks ago and ended up with the same conclusion I have. 

When I was younger, I looked better in my clothes, but could never afford to buy the ones I wanted. Nor did I go anyplace to wear them. 

I wouldn't change anything about my grandkids, including how fast they have grown up. Like my daughter-in-law, I'm all about pushing down on Eamon's head, but that's because then I get to hug him even if he does roll his eyes.

The last five years? I'd love to have not lost my brothers, sister, and my mother-in-law, to have not struggled with day-to-day things that were...a struggle. But what else would have changed if those losses and those conflicts hadn't been there? Different isn't always better. 

While I wish I'd been better at being in high school, no one could pay me enough money to go through that time of my life again.

My 40s were...yeah, probably my favorite time ever. But they were only meant to last 10 years. 

So, that conclusion? If I didn't know how old I was, I'd still be 70. My grands would still be growing up too fast. The regrets would still be there--potholes in life's road. But I've loved people my whole life, and been loved. And had a great time.

The memories may be shards of color now instead of big sheets of it, but they're just as bright. I apologize if I tell you about them more than once, but thank you for listening. 

How about you? What age would you be? 

Have a great week. Be nice to somebody.

***

Still the same place!

City Tire of Peru is this week's business of the week. In business on Main Street since the 1980s, their service and the friendliness with which it's rendered is a highlight of the town. With my tendency to run over nails, I get to visit them even when my tires are new! Stop in or give them a call.