Full Circle (Hold the Bubbles)

Have you ever wondered why, as you age, you don’t feel older in your mind, heart, or soul? It’s as if your body becomes older, but nothing else follows suit. I suppose that’s where the saying “young at heart” comes from, but it wasn’t until recently that I thought about it or understood it.

Even though I don’t feel like an old person, there’s no denying that I am. I am someone who used to love lounging around at the beach, but now I have no interest in a suntan, and I check the SPF ratings on sunscreen with the same intensity a stockbroker watches the Dow.

In fact, instead of the beach, a pool, or any other outdoor summertime event, I’d rather piddle (“piddle”—a word I’m pretty sure comes standard with an AARP membership) around inside my air-conditioned house or maybe wait until the evening when it’s cooled down some, sit on the back deck in the shade with a cold lemonade, and wait for hummingbirds to show up.

I also have no desire to be anywhere crowded, noisy, or rowdy. I used to live for big parties and overcrowded bars. The bigger the party and the louder the band, the better. The more people packed in the bar, the merrier. Now, more than ten people are too many for my taste, and I can’t stand television noise in the background when I’m visiting with someone. I prefer the quiet, and if I go out once a month, I’m good with staying in for a month or two after that.

And, sometimes, I play solitaire and mahjong games on my phone—so yeah, I’m a senior citizen. (Ouch…it hurt to type that.)

I say all this, though, not with any sort of unhappiness. Sure, I sometimes ask, “Where did the time go?” but I don’t feel sad about it because I’m happy with where I am now. I’ve had some of the best experiences that life has to offer, and if there ever has been a time where I feel like I’ve come full circle, it was yesterday.

When I was a kid, my parents were good friends with the couple up the street. I spent many Saturday nights watching TV while my older sister and brother played with their sons, and the adults sat at the newspaper-covered dining room table, picking crabs and drinking. Those of you who are my age may recall the television lineup on Saturday evenings. Hee Haw was a great show and entertaining enough for a five-year-old—if you could survive The Lawrence Welk Show that came on before it. I’d get bored and wander into the dining room to sit with my dad, who’d share his crab meat with me. Other than the few things I just mentioned, I don’t remember anything else about those Saturday evenings—I suppose that’s because I probably fell asleep after Hee Haw—but those vague memories have been etched in my mind for fifty years, and the memories—with their family, friends, and laid-back vibes—helped to form what I now consider a Saturday evening well spent.

Speaking of things that matter most—family, laughter, time together spent around the dinner table—I’m reminded of something more recent. I’m sure that any of you who know me are also familiar with my sister and aware that she received some difficult news a couple of months ago. The doctors acted so quickly that, as of right now, she’s already gone through two rounds of chemo. In another blog, I wrote about how chemo kills cancer cells, but it also kills good cells, which makes a person feel pretty rough. Nausea is a common side effect, and my sister can attest to that. She hasn’t been interested in eating but recently mentioned how much she would love some snow crab legs. My brother, who also happens to be one of the sons of the couple I mentioned (long story), was there when she said it, and we made plans to do crab legs soon.

“Soon” ended up being yesterday, when he and I went to her house to visit, and he brought thirty pounds (yes, I said thirty) pounds of crab legs with him. And just like our parents did in the early seventies, we cooked ’em up, then sat at the dining room table and feasted.

There were a few differences from the 1970s version of the scene, though:

 ~ None of us drink alcohol, so there was no liquor or beer.

 ~ We didn’t have newspaper (probably because most people get their news digitally now), so we covered the table with butcher paper instead.

 ~ Rather than the blue crabs that my dad got for free (with a secret hack he had at his place of employment), we ate snow crab legs that came from the store.

 ~ Our kids are grown, so no little ones were running around or coming to the table, mouths open like baby birds, waiting for crab meat.

But the family and friends, best memories vibes? Still there.

We talked about the times and loved ones that are both long gone. We laughed. We ate until we could barely move. I went home with a full heart, and this morning, I woke up feeling great. You can’t beat that.

So, yes, I’m old. But I don’t mind. I’ve traded excitement-filled, crazy, boozed-up nights for easy, quiet, small gatherings with people I love. I’ve traded next-day hangovers and a handful of Tylenol for peaceful Sunday mornings with coffee, my laptop, and a handful of sentences.

It’s all come around full circle, and while everything is the same, it’s also all so different—but I like it this way. It’s peaceful, I’m content, and because I’m old, I do what I want, and for the most part, I don’t have to do what I don’t want…which means I never have to sit through another episode of The Lawrence Welk Show.

P.S. Just like we did yesterday—throw the crab legs on a rimmed baking sheet, pop them in the oven at 400 degrees for 25 minutes, and thank me later. Way better than steaming.